


The Past, the Present, and the (im)Possible Future

by Jennicide (yenyen)



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Additional Marvel Cameos I Know Hardly Anything About and Have No Business Writing, Bad Jokes, Bad coping mechanisms, Bad references, But Be Real, Comedy, Drama, Fluff, Grr Baby Very Grr, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Identity Porn, Idiots to friends to lovers, Including These Tags, Interdimensional Travel, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multiverse, No I Don’t Know if This Is How It Works but I Did It Anyway, Peter Stop Crying So Damn Much, Peter Stop Puking So Damn Much, Pre-Emptive Warning It Might Be a Little Upsetting, Public Drunkenness, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Sloppy Identity Reveal, They Were Always Idiots, a strange cameo, hurt comfort, including the title, mentions of divorce, mentions of past infidelity, multiverse au, verbal arguments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:13:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 44,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29112846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yenyen/pseuds/Jennicide
Summary: Peter B. Parker drops back into his crapshoot reality after a little detour to an alternate universe. He thinks he might have finally figured out how to make it work again with MJ, but he forgets that there’s still that infamous ‘Parker Luck’ to contend with. (Un)Fortunately for him, there’s a totally available Deadpool on his side of the multiverse who’s been waiting years for a chance to pick him up!
Relationships: Peter B. Parker/Mary Jane Watson, Peter B. Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 36
Kudos: 51
Collections: Spideypool Big Bang - The 2020 Collection





	1. Interdimensional Man of Misery

* * *

  
When Peter landed back in his universe, it was just as painful as his unplanned entry into Miles’ had been. He regretted discovering that interdimensional travel was indeed only for the masochistic. Fortunately, his back wasn’t broken this time because _haha_ been there, done that. Still, even with an enhanced healing factor, tomorrow’s projected recovery was going to be unpleasant. The a/c unit he’d crashed into on the other hand… that was probably going to require a bit more assistance to get back into shape, literally and figuratively. Peter grimaced as bits of bent up steel piping dug further into his body when he attempted to stand.

_Maybe I should just lay here for a second or two longer._

“HAHAHA HOOOOOOLY SHIIIIIIIIT!!! You okay there, [Tobey Maguire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q2b8eNMqyVg&feature=youtu.be&t=30)!?”

That voice sounded horribly familiar.

_Nope, time to get up._

A leather clad red and black hand came into view, and Peter allowed it to grab onto his forearm and help haul him up.

“Well, well, look what the universe finally decided to spit back up like last week’s bad Thai. Spidey, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal, long time no see! But lemme tell ya,” the new arrival wolf whistled through their teeth, the effect only slightly muffled through a mask, “this complex better hope it doesn’t get too hot or too cold Goldilocks style over the next coupla days ‘cuz those vents you just crash landed in are lookin’ like a ten cent hooker… pretty well fucked, if ya know what I mean.”  
  
Oh yeah, he’d recognize that tasteless humor anywhere.

“Deadpool,” he grunted out, hanging onto his friend for support as both of his knees felt just a tad bit too jelly-like to stand on. His reaction to the Merc with a Mouth might have seemed strange or even crazy to any other super passing by, but Peter had known the man under the suit, one Wade Winston Wilson, for the better part of a decade now. There was no reason to not trust the guy to help him rather than harm him. Finally letting go of Deadpool once the strength seeped back into his quads, Peter kicked his legs wide like a giraffe to bend back at an almost inhuman angle and finish working the kinks out of his spine post-fall. “What’re you doing back in New York, Pool?”  
  
“Well, you know me, Webhead, can’t keep to myself for too long. I’m much too nosy to mind my own damn business, even when I know I’m not wanted. But enough about me, [dahhhling](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=diN3TBBsEc0)~! Where’ve _you_ been? It’s been like… a whole friggin’ month! You suddenly into takin’ impromptu vacations on your city without hiring a babysitter? Not like I’m questioning you about your life choices or whatever ‘cuz we both know you’re a grown ass man, but that seems a bit out of character for you... and that’s saying something comin’ from a dude who has multiple POV’s written for him by different authors on the daily.”

Well, that was new. Not the weird meta-analysis Deadpool had tacked on, those were normal for him after all, but had he just said Spider-Man had been _missing?_ For a whole month? Peter straightened up and cut to the chase.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, did you just say a _month?_ ”

The usually expressive whites of Deadpool’s eyes stared back at him blankly. “Uhhhh…” He faked a quick peek at his obviously watchless wrist and then doubled back to meet Peter’s gaze. “Last I checked, today marked the fourth week in a row that New York City’s been missin’ Spider-Man aka you, buckaroo! I’ll admit that my brain tends to Swiss cheese on occasion, but I promise I wouldn’t lie to ya.”

“But how can… that was…” Peter felt his legs growing weak again. Just how much time had passed since he’d been gone? “It couldn’t have been more than a few days. I… I was—” It was getting harder to breathe suddenly, and even though he was outside in the open, Peter could swear someone had turned the oxygen in the air down, so way down that just trying to think rationally about anything had become an impossible task.

A pair of strong hands latched onto his shoulders and helped steady him.

“Slow down, Spidey,” he faintly heard Deadpool’s voice instruct him calmly. “Deep breaths in, hold for three seconds, and then out.” The words whispered gruffly along the crown of his own masked forehead were like a lighthouse beacon guiding a wayward ship at sea. Focusing only on that, the intake, the hold, and the release, Peter was finally able to regain a little of his composure.

 _How humiliating,_ Peter thought, _needing to be handled with kid gloves by someone less stable than myself._ He continued to copy the deep breathing pattern that was being demonstrated until he felt himself settle down.

This was not how he had envisioned his homecoming at all.

“Multidimensional travel can do that to you if you’re a n00b. Can’t always control where or even when ya drop back down but—”

Peter immediately detached himself and looked Deadpool square in his masked eyes. “How do you know about that?”

“Oh, well, ya know,” Deadpool scooted back a few more inches and began fishing around in his utility belt before pulling out what appeared to be a single dose packet of aspirin and was that some kind of hydration pouch? Why would someone with a high pain tolerance and unstoppable healing factor even bother to keep those kinds of things on their person in the first place? “Done some traveling of my own in the past and huhu lemme tell you, I was _not_ prepared for that first drop back into reality. Time works kinda differently when you’re ricocheting in between dimensional planes like a metaphorical pinball.” He passed off the goods to Peter and pointed at the unseen location of his mouth before miming how to properly ingest both items.

“Uh, thanks,” Peter looked down at the objects in his hands, definitely some type of generic analgesic and [Po… Po-car… he only understood the word _sweat_](https://www.otsuka.co.jp/en/company/newsreleases/assets/img/20160404_1_im01.jpg) written in English. _Might be something similar to Gatorade,_ his brain supplied. “You’re telling me you’ve experienced this before, too?”

“Oh honey,” Deadpool falsetto’d his best Dolly Parton impression, “multidimensional happenings to me are like alien invasions to you and your city! Meaning they happen at least two to three times a year with some irregularity. But don’t worry, _I’m_ still regular despite all of that! Joking aside, if you’re wiggin’ out after having fallen straight out of the sky, either I’m in some kind of fallen angel AU or you just came in from another dimension ready to face the [Beastie Boys](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qORYO0atB6g&feature=youtu.be&t=56).”

The explanation was so candid and genuine that Peter caught himself chuckling at the last reference. Now if only he’d landed on his feet…

“No, yeah, you’ve probably done and seen a lot crazier than this,” he reasoned as he rolled his shoulders back and tightened his grip on the handouts he’d been given. “Definitely wasn’t ready for that Einstein relative time slap though. Four days turning into four weeks is a pretty intense shift in—”

“Time? Right, tell me about it! When you checked out and there was no one to watch over this city for like two weeks in a row, yours truly here,” Pool pointed at himself, “decided to blip on by and hand out that Spider-Man brand of vigilante justice you do until ya came back. Just think of it as my way of kindly keepin’ your seat warm while you were away.”

“Thanks,” Peter fumbled with his gratitude again, unsure really of where this conversation was headed now that he’d been caught up to speed. “I, uh, think I should probably go now… maybe sleep this off.”

“Yeah, yeah, totally! Great idea!” Peter felt himself get whirled around to face the nearest corner of the building. “You good now, Spidey? Right, ‘kay, let’s uh, yeah, let’s get you home!” They started edging closer to the ledge when Deadpool slapped his hand back down on Peter’s shoulder to spin him around once more. “Uh, Webs… where is home again?”

That one word triggered Peter; everything came rushing back all of a sudden. It had only now dawned on him that he might not even have a place to return to. Home was an abstract concept since he’d been told a month had gone by. One month without Peter present meant thirty days that bills didn’t get paid and was more than enough reason for his crotchety old landlord to evict him.

It was sort of sad but also kind of funny, how he, clearly the hottest mess out of all of the Spider-(Wo)Men he’d just gotten done saving another world with, was now being passed off to another _known_ hot mess of a super. It was like he couldn’t adult himself properly. Even a pre-teen version of his own super-alias, with more self-esteem than he’d ever had at that age, was seemingly better at getting his life in order. Honestly, who’d scripted this story line? Peter was pretty sure that irony of this magnitude could only be written into a B-grade comedy.

He _desperately_ needed to start [KonMari](https://konmari.com/)’ing his life of all this ridiculousness… starting with himself first.

“I never told you?”

Deadpool didn’t move, his hand still resting lightly on Peter’s left shoulder. “Uhhhh… unless I forgot, which is likely but not probable, or have way more brain damage than I‘m aware of, no, you’ve never told me where you spin your web every night.”

“Huh,” Peter reached up to gently slide his friend’s hand off. “Well, I used to live in Brooklyn, but now I’m back in Queens.”

It felt almost surreal, giving up that kind of information to another masked super so easily after all of the years he’d worked hard to keep any amount of personal information about himself out of conversations. Not even the Avengers knew who he was, and they’d shared the same city for years.

Deadpool squealed once the words were out of his mouth, and Peter became distinctly aware there was no way to put this particular cat back in the bag now that it’d been set free. He hoped this sudden decision to start being open with others wouldn’t turn into a huge mistake. Peter really didn’t want any more set-backs now that he had finally begun nursing a new life plan courtesy of his time in Miles’ dimension.

[_It’s a leap of faith._](https://youtu.be/GuqCibVW5wo?t=76)

“Shall we then?” Deadpool had taken Peter’s momentary distraction as an opportunity to pad up alongside him, elbow cocked and ready to accept his arm. Peter actually laughed then, something genuine, and didn’t hesitate to take it.

But instead of making a dramatically grandiose leap off the building they had reconnected on to exemplify the confidence of his newfound faith in _jumping_ into the unknown, Peter walked them over to the fire escape.  
  


* * *

  
When he awoke the next day, it was to an unexpected barrage of incoming text alerts on his cell phone. Peter groaned as his back popped in that surly thirty-something way that made him feel disgusted with himself. He paused to look for his digital alarm clock, then realized all of his belongings were still knocked over from when he’d gotten sucked into Miles’ reality.

It was already midnight by the time Deadpool had walked him home. Cleaning was the least of his concerns when he’d pulled his key out of a hidden suit pocket and tried to open his apartment door. A faint click proved the lock hadn’t been changed, and Peter caught himself holding out hope that he was still this studio’s only inhabitant. The door opened and revealed the very same dump he’d left behind before the portal sucked him out of his room, greasy pizza stain on the ceiling and all. It was so easy, then, to forget about everything else that needed tending to and instead pitch himself into bed, still clad in his Spider suit.

Peter rolled over and groaned again. Honestly, it could have been worse… at least his landlord hadn’t evicted him or his belongings. Reaching for his cell phone, Peter squinted at the time and the ten plus text messages chock-full of skull and poop emojis… maybe some eggplants.

_Phfft._

He probably should have been more concerned that these weren’t being sent to his Spider-phone. Yes, that was really what he’d named it when he turned twenty-two and had the extra money for another phone line, and no, it wasn’t going to change just because he was thirty-seven. That name was well past the point of sticking now. While he didn’t remember giving Deadpool his personal number last night, knowing it was him behind all these texts didn’t seem like such a big deal for some reason.

Another message popped up, this one featuring another round of eggplants. Peter took his previous statement back. If Wade ended up hogging all of his phone’s memory by blowing up his inbox like this every single day, they were going to have words.

 _Best not encourage him,_ Peter thought before leaving bed to get clean.

He’d just gotten out of the shower when he heard his text alert ping from the living space. Peter frowned and ruffled his hair with the hand towel once more before making his way over to the bed in his last, probably, clean pair of boxer-briefs. His phone’s LED notice light flashed bright blue, and he swiped the screen open to see another message from **DP (hehe)**.

 **wakey wakey eggs n bacey!**

He shrugged his shoulders at the message and dropped the phone back on the bed before resuming his hunt for more, _possibly_ clean clothes in his pigsty of an apartment. He didn’t get far when the phone chimed again. Annoyed, but also a slave to technology, Peter turned around to bend down and retrieve the device before it could go off again.

**4 rlz tho l👀k @ ur wndo**

The phone buzzed in his hand not more than a second later.

 **thnk** 👀 **2 birbs 🥊n 4 ur brnch**

It took a second for Peter’s mind to process the emojis and realize that he was being watched. If Deadpool was texting him simultaneously on his non-Spider-phone while Peter was reading, that could only mean one thing. He did exactly as [Snoop Dogg ordered](https://youtu.be/RaCodgL9cvk?t=25) and dropped to the ground as if his legs had been kicked out from under him. The floor shook as soon as he hit it, and Peter hissed on impact.

“I knew it, I KNEW IT! How could I be so _stupid_!? Trusting him was like—”

His phone pinged once again, and Peter had to scramble to read it.

**btr hry cuz ⬅️ lyk 5 min ago**

Catching sight of his mask where he’d tossed it last night, Peter hurried to slip it over his head and gagged at the sweaty nasty mess he must have smelled like before showering. Taking deep, controlled breaths, Peter tried to talk himself down from the beginnings of a panic attack. Of course Deadpool knew where he lived, he’d shown the man last night! And while it was sort of alarming that the mercenary would start stalking him as soon as he knew where Spider-Man hung his suit, it wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things because Peter didn’t plan on staying here much longer anyway. Besides, Peter reasoned, if the last text message was telling the truth, there was no way Deadpool could have seen his face five minutes prior when he was still in the shower, unless, of course, he’d physically been _in_ Peter’s apartment… But Peter liked to pride himself on being able to recognize the signs of a forced entry after all his years on patrol, so that clearly wasn’t the case.

He finally managed to slow his breathing and pushed himself up off the floor.

With his still mask in place and a rumpled bed sheet thrown over his mostly naked body to provide some sense of modesty, Peter peeked through the room’s only window and caught sight of two pigeons staring back at him with guilty-looking googly eyes. They were perched on the back alley’s stairwell suspiciously close to a grease stained takeout bag. A quick look outside in all directions confirmed that none of his neighbors were in view and neither was a certain red and black mercenary. Peter chanced opening the window and shooed the birds away from the bag before pulling it back into his apartment. As promised, it smelled distinctly of bacon.

Peter reached up to remove his mask after slamming the window shut and drawing the curtains closed. His heart was still rabbiting in his chest, but the intense moment of alarm from before had passed. Looking down, he found his phone exactly where he’d dropped it.

**_Thanks._ **

He typed and sent the text before he could fixate harder on the anxiety this whole breakfast debacle had caused. A second later, guilt crept in to replace the upset. He should be ashamed of himself for second guessing the man who had helped him numerous times in the past and had never once tried to encroach on his secret identity. In their many years working together, Deadpool had been given plenty of opportunities to do so and yet he’d never once crossed that line. Whether it was out of respect for his self-proclaimed hero Spider-Man or for Peter, the person under the mask, he’d never said. Either way, he’d always been considerate about this one thing, and Peter would do well to remember that.

The phone buzzed one last time in Peter’s hand. **ItAdAkImAsU!!!** appeared on the screen followed by three winking faces and alternating red and black heart emojis.  
  


* * *

  
An hour after having inhaled his two gifted egg and bacon sandwiches, Peter had found a clean white t-shirt, only the tiniest bit too tight around his waistline, and a single pair of stretchy grey sweats that didn’t smell like dank, weeks old perspiration. The food had helped energize him, and he would definitely be thanking Pool for that again later. Once dressed and full, he began outlining his _Change Your Life Around Agenda_ on a crinkly pack of post-its that had seen better days. He’d stopped short at four bullet points and was loath to admit how daunting the tasks had quickly become.

The same four lines greeted him for the tenth time.

  * call work get a new **BETTER** job
  * get in shape
  * get a new place
  * get MJ back



Reflecting back on what he’d written, Peter didn’t even know why he’d bothered with that first point anyway. Missing a whole month of work typically led to termination in any well-run establishment. His most recent job in particular had been a dead-end lab rat position that he’d managed to snag through a temp service after the divorce was finalized, so it wasn’t like he’d expected it to be an end all be all permanent position. He’d just have to get another one he supposed, pen mindlessly retracing over the word **better** until it was bigger and bolder than anything else on the paper.

Sitting down and creating this list was supposed to make his obligations simpler and more straightforward; there was nothing he couldn’t accomplish in the past when he was still in his prime. But that was the thing, he _wasn’t_ in his prime anymore. Instead of the handsome young man who had once aspired to greatness as New York’s resident super, he was now a broken up, beaten down, adult loser who had only ever courted failure in all of his real life ventures. Even his alter-ego, Spider-Man, was no better off; he’d been the indirect cause of death to three of Peter’s loved ones and also, more recently, the catalyst for his divorce.

Peter sighed and tossed the possibly impossible list over his shoulder. He knew what he had to do but couldn’t seem to figure out how to get started. This had all seemed so much easier with the emotional support from the alternate universe Spiders.

He sighed heavily at that. Here and now, in this reality, it would appear he only had himself.

Or did he?

Peter turned to look back at his phone sitting stoic on the mattress beside him. Two o’clock flashed on the LCD screen when he tapped the power button.

 _Unless…_ the thought came aimlessly to him. Palming his phone, Peter swiped open the screen to read over all of Deadpool’s previous text messages. They ranged from **so happ 2 c u again** to **SCREECH!!!!!**

It was oddly comforting to know that someone in this universe was still thinking about him even if it was just in a weird quasi-friendly sort of way. Peter hadn’t really allowed himself to make friends with anyone after losing both Gwen and Harry… and certainly he’d never let anyone know him more intimately than MJ. After they married, he’d held everyone but her and Aunt May at an arm’s length. They’d both been too precious to endanger recklessly like he’d done with others in the past. No one could know anything about Peter B. Parker other than the fact that he was born and raised in New York and that he’d become one of the most unremarkable human beings you were ever likely to meet.

It was actually kind of funny, he thought, how he’d never believed he was strong enough to survive losing Aunt May or MJ and yet, somehow, they had both still managed to leave him all the same in the end.

May’s passing had been a long time coming though. He’d known she was sick for a while but never to what degree. The day she finally decided to tell him she’d been diagnosed with advanced stage cancer and was purposely choosing to forgo treatment was the day he realized it was already too late to change her mind. The grief hit him full-force not long after they finished their routine brunch that Sunday afternoon. May had said she’d never meant to hurt him, but she still did anyway, and he knew that she’d only told him the truth now to soften the blow of her forthcoming passing.

In the past, they’d never kept secrets from each other, except for Spider-Man of course. So it came as a shock to Peter that she’d chosen to do this even though he understood why she would, to not burden him and MJ while their marriage was becoming increasingly less stable.

It had been a heavy Sunday, being confronted with thoughts of death and dying. When Peter came home later that day, he’d been a mess of denial and anger. He remembered now that MJ had held him and told him not to take it so hard. She was right, as always, when she said he would have done the exact same thing if his and May’s positions had been reversed. 

_That’s just how all you Parkers are,_ he faintly recalled her saying, _you’re always self-sacrificing… you’ve always gotta be the hero._

The last thing he’d told May, before she passed a couple months later, was the last secret he’d hidden from her—that he was, and always had been, Spider-Man. She’d just smiled in that same loving way she used to and nodded in understanding. Maybe it was easier for her to accept his decision to not tell her before that moment because she’d done something similar to him and wanted to be forgiven.

And right before the end, Peter was able to get the closure with her that he’d been denied his uncle, where there was nothing left unsaid, no regrets, and then the light faded from her eyes as her heart monitor slowly stopped registering activity.

Peter reached up to rub at the wetness that had come, unbidden, to his eyes. Just thinking about it now, remembering that she had managed to outlive him in another reality… it wasn’t quite fair somehow, but he would forever be grateful that he’d gotten the chance to hold her just one more time.

MJ, on the other hand… the widow of Miles’ Spider-Man had wanted as much to do with him as his own reality’s version. That adverse attitude she’d displayed towards him probably had more to do with the fact that she’d just recently lost her loving husband, and he may have come on too strong like an overbearing fan while trying to flex whatever remaining charm he had as an alternate reality version of Peter Parker. Geez, was he really that desperate, macking on another version of himself’s poor ex-wife? Could _himself_ even be used as a possessive?

He sighed. Peter’s thumb swept to the calendar app on his phone. The original note for meeting with the divorce lawyer glared back at him mockingly. Four months… he’d allowed himself to wallow in pity for, technically, three and an unexpected one months. That was going to end today.

He closed out the calendar and swiped back to his text messages before clicking on the contact name **DP (hehe)**.

**_Want to join me for patrol tonight?_**

He nearly cracked and added, _could use someone to talk to…_ but thought better of it last minute and sent the text before he could second guess why. There wasn’t even a chance to set the phone down before it went off, vibrating like crazy in his hand, with text after text from Deadpool.  
  
**SQUEE!!!!!!**

Which was then followed by various other heart and shocked reaction emojis in an unintelligible series. **  
** **  
** **OMFG YASSSSS**

**OFC WE GON P-TROLL BCUZ U AXED**

**LEZ DO DIS!!!**

More winking and kissing faces appeared on his text preview bar after that. Another genuine smile broke out across Peter’s face. He hadn’t felt this hopeful in a long time. Maybe things really could change if he was willing to commit to them.

**_See you at 9 p.m._ **

He finished tapping out the time and pressed send before setting the phone down and switching over to his computer to start working on a new resume.

His phone pinged one last time.  
  
**c u @ 21:00** ❤️🖤❤️🖤  
  


* * *

  
They met at the same rooftop Spider-Man had fallen onto the night before. Peter found it amusing that even though they hadn’t come to an actual agreement on a specific meeting place, they’d still known exactly where to find one another. It brought back good memories from a time before, when things were simpler and marriage—and subsequent divorce—was the furthest thing from Peter’s mind. Landing point plotted out, he began slowing his arcs in preparation for a mid-swing dismount. Spoiling Deadpool, aka Spider-Man’s biggest fanboy, with a little flair every now and again wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“OH, OH, DO THE SUPERHERO LANDING!” he heard Deadpool shout at him from the roof, hands cupped around his masked mouth like a megaphone. Peter snorted at the request but obliged all the same. He clipped the webbing at the end of his left wrist shooter and brought his knees up to his chest. At the height of his prime, Peter might have been able to perform a triple tuck with minimal effort before he landed. Today, however, his lower back was still a little twingy from the previous night’s fall. Truthfully, it had never really felt the same after he’d broken it a few years prior, advanced spider healing powers be damned. Deadpool would just have to live with receiving a single tonight.

It was more than enough.

“[Nooice!](https://youtu.be/rQnYi3z56RE?t=9)” A spattering of applause accompanied his landing. Peter rolled his eyes at the theatrics but found himself laughing along all the same. He’d definitely made the right call by asking for company.

“Is that all it takes to impress you, Pool? Talk about low standards…”

“Oh, Spidey, if you think this gal’s a cheap date, you’d be **dead** wrong. Deadpool wrong. I just make special exceptions for you now and again.” As Pool turned around to grab something, Peter noticed a distinct lack of Bea and Arthur, his two beloved swords. Had they even been there last night? Peter couldn’t remember.

“Check it out,” Pool gushed as he spun to face Peter with a large brown takeout bag in one hand and a flap of the wrist with the other, “Found out that li’l Thai place we used to hit up is still in business and got you a number three, eleven, and twenty-one, just like old times!” He rushed forward to pass off the food before bending down to retrieve his own paper bag.

“Huh, uh… thanks,” Peter accepted the parcel awkwardly; his stomach gave an interested rumble at the scents wafting up from the takeout but was blatantly ignored in favor of watching his friend pop open his own bag and comedically sniffing loudly at the contents within. Peter had downed two cups of instant noodles before heading out to meet Deadpool earlier. Even though he knew that those didn’t really count as a quality meal to his souped up metabolism prepping for a night of vigilante work, one of his other goals on the _Change Your Life Around Agenda_ had been to get back in shape. His current thirty-six inch waistline was just another sad reminder of his former self’s bad coping strategies. As good as the idea of a better tasting but not necessarily healthier meal sounded, it’d be too easy to fall back into a lackadaisical routine where he didn’t bother to think about what was best for himself in the long run. He gently lowered the bag as far as his arms would allow to better focus on what he was about to say next.

“Wasn’t planning on meeting up with you just to get fed,” he said as he followed Deadpool over to a ledge of the roof opposite his crash site. The building’s tenants must have already called and complained because the metal carcass of what was once their central air unit was blocked off with yellow caution tape.

“Oh Spidey, how could I _not_ wanna feed you? You just came back to the Big Apple from who knows where! You gotta be starved!” Then Pool leaned over and dropped his voice like he was sharing secret government intel. “Food in other places gets hella weird once you exit 616, lemme tell ya. Do **NOT** try the [glowing blue jello](https://youtu.be/eGtDmvtBZQY?t=45)—it’s sentient in some universes.” He dropped himself precariously down on the outer lip of the building, legs swishing carefree above nothing but air. “Now come siddown with me and pig out on the best cheap Asian food your city has to offer."

Peter did as he was told, seating himself on the right side of his friend and setting the takeout aside to avoid any and all temptation as Pool tore into his meal. There was no pretense between them anymore; the Deadpool mask was up over his nose before he’d even broken apart his splintery wooden chopsticks to powerhouse through some spicy pad thai. Most people probably would have been repulsed by the fact that Pool was a messy eater featuring an even messier complexion, but it was nothing Peter hadn’t already seen before. In fact, it was kind of charming how his scarred friend could continue to handle all of his own life’s setbacks with sarcastic humor and comical apathy, even if they had horrifically disfigured him both physically and emotionally.

Peter felt a stab of envy at that. If only he could view his own failures with such a sense of humor, Peter supposed he wouldn’t still be stuck in his current rut. Either way, he appreciated being able to see Deadpool, no, Wade, like this. Seeing his face and referring to him by name proved he was still a human being under all that leather.

“Yoo naht ‘ungry ‘pidey?” came the question as bits of noodle and bean sprout sprayed out of Wade’s open mouth. Like a traitor, Peter’s rebellious stomach gurgled again, louder this time. He opened his mouth to deny it when Wade beat him to the punch. “Hah!” Wade huffed a laugh and lost a shrimp. “Least your gut’s honest!”

“Well,” Peter reasoned, “what my gut fails to realize is that it doesn’t need any more food tonight. Honestly, it’s been overfed for far too long now.” His gloved hand came to pinch at the obnoxious flub at his midsection that was impossible to hide while seated. Compared to Wade’s six-pack, his abdomen was pushing into twenty-four-pack territory.

“Awww, Webs,” Wade managed in between mouthfuls, “I’m toe-duh-lee hawt fer yer DILF bod.” He paused a second to swallow his food, “Don’t sweat dumb shit like looks, I mean, have you **_seen_** me?! ‘Sides, now that you’re back in your own universe, you’ll have plenty of time to focus on other things besides pixelating out of existence.”

“Wait, you know about that, too?”

“Uh, [DUH](https://media1.tenor.com/images/555b335aa0a0f4dad8b6e41b1c1f804f/tenor.gif)!” Wade laughed before popping some weird kind of dumpling into his mouth, “What’d I tell you about me and interdimensional travel Spidey-poo? This ain’t my first rodeo.”

“But how did you—”

“Uh-uh,” Wade cut him off with a comedic wag of his index finger like a mother scolding their child, “No talkey if no eatey!” Said finger then pointed at the ignored containers of Thai food next to Peter’s leg. “I didn’t slave over a walk through Midtown just for you to not eat. And ya ain’t foolin’ nobody; I may not have super enhanced hearing, but I know a hungry stomach when I hear it. You’re a growin’ boy… man. Whatever… EAT.”

Peter sighed before finally caving and opening up his takeout bag. Wade was always difficult to dissuade when he got in one of his moods. Best to just play along if Peter wanted to know more about Deadpool’s past adventures through time and space. Grabbing the first box that was on top, Peter cracked it open and pushed up his mask. It smelled heavenly. He fished around inside the oversized paper bag until he found a pair of chopsticks. After breaking them apart, he turned back to Wade, who had just about finished up his meal. “So, now you gonna tell me?”

Wade chuckled and pointed in Peter’s direction with his own utensils, mimicking the act of eating.

Trying to keep his eyes from rolling out of his head, Peter finally dug into his food. The first bite was delicious, definitely better than two crummy dehydrated sacks of crunchy noodles. Peter didn’t even try to stifle the happy hum that escaped his mouth.

“Now to answer your question, yes, I do _know about that._ ” Wade tossed all his empty containers into his own bag and pitched it clear off the roof. Had Peter not been so distracted with his own food, he might have had some things to say about littering, but at the moment, he couldn’t be bothered to care.

“Thing is though, I can’t exactly _get_ dead. Like, literally… I’m pretty sure you’ve seen me get torn apart before and what do I always do?” Wade finger-gunned at him with a wink and a smirk before pulling his mask back down.

Peter shuddered as he forced himself to swallow. He remembered that particular incident. It had been unbelievably horrific and yet somehow Deadpool had managed to laugh through it while regrowing his entire lower half. Peter tried not to feel queasy as he finished up his current bite of noodles that, sickeningly enough, were starting to remind him of the intestines he’d seen spill out of his friend’s midsection.

“You always come back.”

“Yep!” Wade popped the P at the end. “They don’t call me the Regeneratin’ Degenerate for nothin’! So basically, yeah, after about forty-eight hours or so, your molecules can start to get all kinds of jumpy and make your body wanna blip like a glitch all over the place—but that doesn’t affect me. I mean, it _does_ , but not like life threateningly so.”

Peter nodded as Wade continued.

“[And if I lose, say, a finger or a leg](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1276028), it’ll just grow back given enough time. Oh, oh, and once nearly all of me blasted off into nowhere. That was _fun_ … but when I came back, it was like I got a free reset, and then it took like a whole ‘nother forty-eight hours or something before it started happening again. Point is you _really_ only start losing bits of yourself after about a good five days. So, what I guess I’m trying to say is, good thing you got yer cute li’l heiny outta there before the ultimate side-effect, aka death, started happening to you!”

Peter tipped his container up and emptied the last remaining contents into his mouth before shrugging at Wade. “Sounds about right,” he murmured through his food. “Definitely hurt enough to prove it could’ve been fatal…” Peter tossed his chopsticks and now empty container back into his takeout bag. Sure, he might let Wade litter, but he wasn’t about to do it himself. Had to start working up that good karma somewhere, he figured.

“You didn’t finish your food.” Deadpool pointed down at the remaining contents of Peter’s takeout.

Peter shrugged again and tugged his mask back down.

“But you always finish your food.” Deadpool suddenly gasped and pointed a finger at Peter’s face accusingly. “[They come from another world!](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Invasion_of_the_Body_Snatchers)” he shrieked.

“What?”

Not bothering to explain the reference, Wade tried again. “You, uh, sure you’re okay, Spidey? What I’m askin’ is, did ya hit your head extra hard last night or is something really wrong in Spider Town? You’re the only person who’s ever been able to match my gluttonous metabolism, and unless I’ve made a grievous error by forgetting what you used to like from Thai Me Up, something’s wrong because you _never_ used to refuse food.” The whites of Deadpool’s mask were expressive enough that Peter could see the concern written on his friend’s face even underneath the red and black leather.

“Nah,” he shook his head slowly, looking away from the worrying stare. “Just… a lot of ‘personal’ adjustments need to be made. Trying to do my best even though I’m kinda anxious about it all.”

“Oh?” He heard Deadpool shuffle closer, their thighs nearly brushing now. “What kinda adjustments? Anything I can help with?”

Peter chuckled darkly and shook his head once more. “I doubt it unless you happen to have a job for my loser alter-ego in your back pocket.”

A weird sound, like an inhaled cough, came from his left. He was about to ask if Wade had sucked in a moth on accident when he got cut off.

“HOW DARE!”

Peter turned just in time to watch his friend scramble gracelessly back to his feet, nearly losing his balance, but managing to catch himself at the very last second before he went tumbling off the ledge of the building. 

“You take that back! My hero número uno is no loser, which means his mild-mannered real self isn’t one either!” He saw Wade twist at the waist and reach for one of his rear utility pockets. “And for your information, _Sally Sass_ , I do too have a job in my back pocket. THANKS INVISIBLE AUTHOR!” He beamed and offered up a little white business card to a stunned silent Spider-Man. Peter couldn’t get the words out that he had just been kidding as his hand reached over to accept the scrap of paper. He paused when his spandex fingertips slid past Deadpool’s leather ones.

By taking this from Wade, he could be opening himself up to a great deal of danger. It had been different sharing his identity with the other Spiders. They’d all had the exact same secret to protect; not one of them had even thought twice about it. They were all one and the same in that regard. But Deadpool, the famous masked anti-hero, was different. He and Spider-Man were nothing alike.

Spider-Man existed to uphold all that was good in the world; he knew the difference between right and wrong, saw things in stark black and white. Deadpool, on the other hand, existed solely to rub out those lines until they blended into one solid shade of gray. He did things not because they were good or bad but merely because he could. People like him didn’t always care about what was right or wrong, good or evil. Folks like that believed rules were made to be broken. If Peter took this, there was a chance that Deadpool, or Wade, as Peter liked to think of the man when he wasn’t decked out in his red and black leathers, might choose to follow up on him and discover just who Spider-Man really was under the mask.

Deadpool was an exceptionally well-trained mercenary even if he didn’t act like one most of the time. If he wanted to, he could hold that threat over Peter; there’d be nothing stopping him from selling Spider-Man’s identity to the highest bidder. Not that Peter was sure Wade would ever do that to him, but anything was possible, and he’d been fooled before. One wrong word, one misstep, and their friendship could fall apart again. Before yesterday, they hadn’t spoken in years. What was tying them together even now?

The long pause that passed between the two of them must have alerted Deadpool to his inner crisis because he let go of the card and spoke as flatly as he could with no playful lilt to his voice as he put words to Peter’s unspoken fear.

“I know what you’re thinkin’,” he started. “What’s stopping me from finding out who you are if you take that? Obviously, if I have that on my person, I must know ‘em, maybe even know something about you if I think it’s work ya might be able to handle. But I gotta tell ya Webs, bullshit scout’s honor aside, I’d never do anything to purposely put you or your secret self in danger.”

Spider-Man remained silent and blinked back at him.

“I mean it. Course I’ve always wanted to know more about you, Spidey. [After all, I am your biggest fan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGO2hqUAeqU). But not in a creepy thwarted fanboy sorta way, I truly mean it. This contact’s a guy who owes me a favor for addressin’ some sciency white collar plagiarism off his research. He’s pretty high up there on the social ladder. Probably knows half of all New York and New Jersey too, for that matter, even if it is a [wretched hive of scum and villainy](https://www.homesnacks.net/images/2017/05/new-jersey-memes/1.jpg).”

Deadpool sat back down, ensuring there was at least a good foot of space between himself and Peter. “I guess I thought that since you’re smart enough to design all your own tech and that you’re a big geeky nerd under all that spandex, he might be able to hook you up with some sort of work you’d be good at. I’ll never go out of my way to ask him what he did to help ya if you do contact him, but you’re definitely gonna have to tell him Deadpool sent you, or he may not even blink an eyelash at your request. Whatever he refers you to do though, just know that it doesn’t have to be any of _my_ business, ya dig?”

Peter nodded and stuffed the business card into a small hidden pocket on his hip. It was like a weight had been lifted off of him suddenly. Even if Wade couldn’t always respect personal boundaries with others, he often tried his best when it came to Spider-Man. That was a relief, in a way. Peter wanted to believe him even though years had passed since they’d hung out like this. The last time they’d gone on a patrol together, why, that was… that was a few nights before his wedding. It seemed ages ago, but it had really only been a couple years. Yet, here they were on a roof-top, conversing like nothing had changed and time was the illusion.

“I do trust you,” is all Peter said in return, and he meant it.

Deadpool nodded before leaning over to love tap Peter on a blue spandex covered bicep. “So now that we’ve addressed one part of your plot-setting crises, can we get to the fun patrol part of the night that’s not even gonna be covered in immense detail but will still be enjoyable for both of us anyway?”

Peter laughed and nodded again.  
  


* * *

  
Over the next two weeks, they saw each other with increasing regularity. It should have been more unsettling that Deadpool had disappeared and then reappeared so suddenly back into Peter’s life, but it wasn’t since they managed to get on much the same as they always had in the past. Peter’s days were spent sorting through all of the stockpiled garbage he’d been packratting since his divorce and job hunting like he was getting paid for it. Except, of course, he wasn’t.

Savings were dwindling down now and would barely cover another month’s rent before he’d have to start panicking. Though he could have, asking for assistance was out of the question as his stubborn masculine pride refused to allow him to beg MJ for support funds. It didn’t even matter that her alimony settlement was part of the reason he was struggling in the first place. Peter B. Parker had to learn how to financially manage on his own and that was that.

He could do it. He would do it!

Peter thought back to the four bullet points of his life changing agenda. A few more weeks of intensive training, [Italian Stallion-style](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_YYmfM2TfUA) Pool might have joked had he seen it, would help him trim down his waistline, and he’d be exactly where he wanted to be in terms of his fitness goals. The hardest part of sticking to his list was accepting and celebrating the smaller accomplishments he’d achieved thus far even if they weren’t quite the magnificent milestones he’d originally been hoping for. Yes, fitness and finally learning to manage his studio apartment were on track, but securing a job to finance getting a new place and making that first call to MJ were not.

He’d manage somehow, he reasoned. He always did.

Peter skidded to a halt next to a dumpster to catch his breath. It was about 5:35 a.m., just ten minutes left till sunrise and he’d only started running. He thumbed at his Fitbit, a necessary tool of fitness evil from his past married life with Mary Jane that she had gifted him last Christmas, to see he still had eight miles to go. The target goal was fifteen miles every two days to give his body a brief refractory period for recovery. So far, so good; he’d stopped puking from overexertion after his second time running.

He reached up to wipe the sweat from his forehead and pushed his unruly mop of brown hair out of his eyes. Peter made a note that he’d need a haircut soon too, another reason to find a decent paying job that much faster. Aunt May had given him trims here and there when he was in grade school, but Peter didn’t trust himself not to make a mistake if he had to resort to using a pair of house scissors. Besides, he reasoned, improved physical looks weren’t just about his own self-esteem anymore, though that was certainly an important part of it.

To really prove that he was finally willing to change, that he was finally ready to commit this time, he needed to show MJ that he was a man with unquestionable conviction. No more quarter-life crisis-ing for him. The old Mr. Parker that she had known would be no more.

Nodding in resolution, he set back off at a moderate pace to complete his run.  
  


* * *

  
By the time he finished and was climbing back up the creaky stairwell of his apartment complex, it was closer to 7:00 a.m. than he would have liked. Changing out of his sticky sweatpants and somewhat tight, pit-stained shirt, he hopped into the shower before his cell phone began beeping loudly from the living space.

The odds of it being Deadpool were pretty high, and Peter didn’t bother to stop himself from smiling as he sudsed up his hair and tried to keep the froth out of his eyes. Dollar store two-in-one shampoos got the job done on a budget, but man did they sting when they touched anything not your scalp. By the time he stepped out of the bathroom, pink and clean, his ringtone had chimed no less than five times. Peter picked up his phone and thumbed in the passcode on autopilot while stuffing his head into a freshly washed t-shirt featuring a punny science joke that had faded from too much wear. Maybe it said something about [chemists doing it on the table periodically,](https://www.amazon.com/Chemists-Do-Table-Periodically-Shirt/dp/B07M9VS59Z) but he didn’t bother trying to read it.

 _Likely another gift from MJ,_ Peter caught himself thinking a little bitterly. No, he shook his head at that, now was not the time to get upset about past hurts. They were going to work through things and then there’d be no harm, no foul for the rest of their future lives together. He had no right to feel upset about how things had ended between them when he was part of the reason why they’d broken off their relationship in the first place.

When he finally took a look at his phone, an unknown number flashed back at him from the message preview bar.

**_Are you still seeking employment?_**

Peter felt his brows furrow as he read the text twice, thrice, just to be sure he was actually comprehending what he was seeing. He had to fight the urge to rudely tap out who was asking but decided better of it at the last second. There were about twenty applications of his floating around in cyberspace; this message could just as easily have come from one of those prospective employers contacting him for an interview as well as from a random stranger… or a malicious stranger. He narrowed his eyes further. 

**_I am_** , he typed back, **_are you still seeking applicants?_**

The reply would take a moment to send and receive, so Peter decided to go back and cycle through his other new text alerts, and of course those were from Deadpool.

**U MITE GT ✉️ FRM SUM1 2DAY**

**DUN BE MAD**

**I DID IT 4 U BB**

**ILU 🕷️y**

Just as he finished reading the last message, his phone buzzed again. The unknown number had messaged him back.

**_I believe we have a mutual acquaintance, and they tell me you’re looking for work? Can you send a current resume to my email for review? I’ll see what I can do. No promises. waderfredb@columbiauny.edu_**

Ah, so that’s what Deadpool was on about.

Of course Peter knew that his initial reaction should be one of gratitude, that his friend had cared enough to assist him during his job hunt, but he’d never expected Pool to go out of his way like this, to actually be the one to _secure_ the first point of contact for him. That was supposed to be Peter’s job, when he was good and (desperate) ready. But therein also lay the problem, Deadpool had no business deciding whether or not Peter ever made contact with the individual listed on that business card for him in the first place.

He shook his head and tried not to feel angry with this chance opportunity being offered to him. Would it really be okay to just sit back and let someone else take the reins for him? The last two weeks had been lining up surprisingly well, like dominos stacked perfectly in a row. If Peter didn’t know better, and he most certainly did, it was hard not to be suspicious of why. The only reason he could possibly think of was because they were being made ready to get knocked down. Nothing in Peter’s life had ever worked out in his favor before, so he found himself trying to be logical about the current situation at hand. What did Deadpool or this Mr. Waderfred have to gain out of tricking him?

After talking himself down, Peter decided to go against his better nature and began typing a reply.

**_Yes!_**

He frowned and deleted the exclamation point. Didn’t want to seem too eager now.

**_Yes, I believe we do. I’ll be sure to send my resume ASAP. Thank you for considering me._**

He clicked send and swiped out of the unknown number’s message and back into Deadpool’s.

 ** _WE’RE GOING TO HAVE A TALK THE NEXT TIME WE MEET._ **He ominously typed out in caps before pressing send.

The phone chimed twice in quick succession.

 ** _Of course._** Came the reply from Mr. Waderfred and from Deadpool came, **HOPE ITS BOUT DA 🐦S n 🐝S!!!**

 ** _Meet later tonight?_** Peter sent back to his mercenary friend.

 **U BET** came the immediate response.  
  


* * *

  
They’d been meeting regularly on the same rooftop for the past two weeks, and it was refreshing to finally see all of the caution tape removed and the ventilation system restored to its former glory. Peter had brought dinner that night. Wade had been providing for them every other time they’d met up before patrol because, as he said, _he was loaded and had nothing better to do unlike Spidey who was an absolute busybody that ought to learn how to make more time for himself._ But little did Deadpool know, all jobless Peter B. Parker ever did prior to their patrols was focus on fixing the dumpster fire that was his life.

“Hope you’re into raw fish,” Peter smirked, passing off two of the sushified burritos he’d picked up for them from a small new local start-up that specialized in poke bowls and other unusual Asian fusion fare.

“A-wha now? The hell are these?” Deadpool took his little plastic baggie but made a weird expression at the oddly familiar shape of the food inside.

“Sushirritos.” Peter informed him. “They’re a healthy new take on the traditional burrito. I’ve been working on fixing up my diet the past few weeks and figured it couldn’t hurt to expose you to new things. Know you like actual burritos and thought this would be the easiest way to convert you over to my side.”

Pool just shook his head and lamented, “Mexicans wouldn’t do me like this.”

“You’re probably right,” Peter shrugged as he moved to sit down on their usual ledge and unwrapped his own sushirrito. He’d order two traditional California roll wraps for himself and gotten his friend something fancier and spicier that might entice him to overlook the health consciousness of the meal.

“I’m pretty sure it’s written somewhere in my contract that I’m not allowed to eat anything even remotely healthy, like, ever. If I end up paying for this later,” Deadpool groused, unwrapping one of the nori covered burritos and thumbing vigorously in the direction of his behind, “I’m gonna blow up your phone while I blow up the toilet. If I gotta sit and suffer, so do you.”

“Gross,” Peter remarked while shoving the other half of his wrap into his mouth. _Oops,_ he caught himself a little too late. Talking with food in your mouth was rude, right? He would definitely need to work on sprucing up his table manners in the near future if he wanted to be polite company for other human beings again, but that was a whole other matter not related to tonight’s meet-up. He turned to watch with mild interest as Wade tentatively lifted the edge of his mask to sniff his food suspiciously like a stray cat. His nostrils flared a little wider than usual after a single huff. Probably good that he’d chosen one of the spicier options then, Peter thought. Seemingly satisfied that it was real food and not some elaborate mockery of the stuff, Wade bit into the sushi style burrito. His reaction wasn’t as excited as Peter had been hoping for but at least he was still chewing and not running his mouth about how Mexicans everywhere were declaring war in the streets now that Asians had officially crossed over into their territory.

“Not terrible, right?” Peter asked as he began unwrapping his second burrito.

“Not terrible,” Wade agreed before taking another, bigger bite. “I guess, mah big quez-tee-on is, [BUT WHY](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Z9yK3sMDUU)?”

Peter sniggered and motioned down at his gut. It hadn’t gotten considerably slimmer in such a short amount of time, maybe just an inch or two since he’d started making changes to his diet, but at least he was actively trying to do something about it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wade waved him off, rice and some kind of orange filling falling out as he spoke with his mouth full. “You think you’re ugly or some shit; [I mean, I don’t care, do whatever you want, but let me just tell you something about being ugly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_dCc-9pEPM&feature=youtu.be&t=177).”

“I don’t just think,” Peter finished his last bite and pulled his mask back down. “I’m sure of it. There’s no way in heck I’d fit into my spare suits one design ago, even if I wanted to.”

Deadpool finished his first burrito and crumpled up the wrapper before reaching into his plastic takeout bag for the second, all while leering at Spider-Man in that too suggestive way that promised an indecent comment was forthcoming. “You clearly haven’t played around with enough lube if you think you can’t fit something big into something small.”

“Classy. Are sexual innuendos all you can come up with?” Peter groaned and threw his trash into Wade’s foodless takeout bag in retaliation.

“Ay!” Wade groused as he swatted at Peter’s gloved hand while shoving half of his burrito straight into his mouth. “[That’s my bag, baby!](https://www.motivators.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/bag.jpg)”

Laughing, Peter reached for their combined sack of wrappers and stood to walk it directly over the dumpster closest to them below the building’s rooftop. Since their meet-ups were becoming a routine pattern as of late, he’d been sure to scope out all the nearest amenities this part of town had to offer, including public restrooms. Bless New York City and it’s multitude of easily accessible construction worker port-a-potties.

“So…” Wade whistled through his teeth as Spider-Man walked back to take his seat, “were you plannin’ on chewin’ me out tonight or not? ‘Cuz if I’m being honest, I’d much rather you ate me out instead.”

“Really?” Peter deadpanned as his friend blew him a kiss with his mask still rolled up. He’d stopped just shy of the ledge and brought his hands to his hips in that same way Aunt May always did when she was no longer in the mood to tolerate nonsense.

“WHAT!?” Wade griped and kicked his legs childishly.

Peter hoped his mask conveyed the appropriate level of irritation he was feeling. “You gave a stranger my phone number, my personal cell number. _You_ did that, all on your own. You never asked me if you could, and I never would’ve given you permission to had you bothered to ask in the first place.”

“Well, but, whoa, hey—” Wade fumbled over his favorite interjections. “[Wait a minute, boy, why you trippin’ like that?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iWyvMerss4w&feature=youtu.be&t=56) I gave you that card _weeks_ ago. **You’re** the one who never followed up on it!”

“It’s only been two weeks,” Peter emphasized with two gloved fingers on his right hand.

“Exactly, you think ‘cuz you trickin’ you get it just like that? The dude never called and checked in with me to see if I’d actually given his info out to a friend like I said I would, so I figured I’d get the ball rolling for ya since you’re so _averse_ to asking for help! I get that maybe you’re a little mad, but like, shouldn’t you also kinda be appreciative here, too? After all, you haven’t told me you got a new job or anything, so I bet you’re still lookin’, and I **KNOW** you won’t take any of the other high payin’ gigs I could’ve gotten you since they’re not,” Wade teetered back and forth as he airquoted at Peter, “ **kosher** or whatever your weird spidery hang-up is, but I’m positive you wouldn’t have told me you needed a job if your current sitch wasn’t dire, so just let ‘ol Palpool help out a little every once ‘n in a while, okay? Yeesh, you don’t even have to say thanks, but don’t get upset that I was only tryin’ to be a good friend!”

A good friend.

Peter was stuck on those words. Was this what normal, healthy friendships actually entailed? Was it normal to care so much about another person that you’d go out of your way to fuss over them, even if they didn’t ask for your help in the first place? Were people not supposed to get mad because those actions came from a place of good intent?

The thought, again, gave Peter pause. It’d been so long since he’d had any semblance of a real, functional adult relationship outside of his deceased aunt and now ex-wife. Maybe he should be more appreciative of the fact that someone, even somebody like Wade, was worried about him enough to reach out to a contact and try to set something up for Peter. The emailed response he’d gotten in return for his resume seemed promising enough, not an ounce of shady intent was hidden in the wording. And, of course, it wasn’t like any of his other applications had fetched anything near as good in the interim. If Peter thought hard about it, the worst he’d been exposed to so far from this event were a few personal preference questions, such as: Do you prefer working alone or with others? Would you be opposed to a position of leadership?

Goodness only knew what Wade’s contact, Dr. Bradley D. Waderfred, would be doing with Peter’s answers, but it probably wasn’t anything malicious. The @columbiauny.edu moniker was given only to faculty members at Columbia University—the most expensive Ivy League school in New York City that a younger, brighter version of himself could never have hoped to be accepted into back when he’d been applying for undergraduate studies. The funds necessary to attend such a university had been absolutely outrageous, dabbling somewhere in the six figures, and there just hadn’t been enough merit scholarships available for Peter to cover the cost.

When he’d googled the contact’s last name and first initial, loads of pharmaceutical research papers had popped up. This guy was definitely high up in the biomedical field with studies ranging from novel drug compounds postulated to treat cancer all the way up to new therapies for managing genetic disorders on a cellular level. Judging strictly by the quality of his body of doctoral work thus far, whatever service he’d requested from Deadpool had likely cost him less in the long run than a lawsuit would have decrying plagiarism of his detailed history of research. Peter just hoped that whatever it was Dr. Waderfred had asked of Wade, it didn’t involve bloodshed. He also hoped that if Dr. Waderfred kept his promise to find Spider-Man’s alter-ego a job, Peter B. Parker had enough credentials to qualify for the position being offered. A bachelor’s in biochemical engineering only went so far these days, and graduate school would always and forever be a pipe dream if he could barely manage his life now.

“Yo, Web-head!” Wade loudly snapped his gloved fingers twice. An embarrassed flush heated Peter’s cheeks, and he was thankful he’d had the good sense to slide his mask back down. “[At last, I have control of your attention! Are you receiving me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mCqHp3Sr5yg)? Did my exposition break you?” Wade tilted his head, waiting for a reply.

Defeated, Spider-Man sat back down next to him. “Sorry, bud, you’re right. I should say thanks.”

“Nah, you really don’t gotta—”

“No,” Peter whirled around and held his hand up to stop Wade’s chatter. “Thank you.” He rotated his wrist and held it out for a handshake.

“What’re we, executive business partners now or something?” Wade grumbled as he brought both of his hands up to close Peter’s gloved fingers into a fist and bump their knuckles together lightly.

“You’re welcome my dude, but you’re right, too. I’m sorry I didn’t ask for permission before actin’ on my own. You know I gotta bad habit of doin’ whatever dumb shit crosses my mind first without thinkin’ about the consequences. I’m not really that kinda thoughtful boyfriend, ya know? Only got one X-chromosome in these genes… [well, maybe a bunch of X-chromosomes actually since my cells are totally jacked at this point](https://medlineplus.gov/genetics/understanding/mutationsanddisorders/genemutation/) , but the main thing I’m trying to get at is that I doubt more than one of ‘em is fully functional in a single cell at any given time. I’ll try not to be so chaotic neutral in the future, [DM](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dungeon_Master).”

“All is forgiven, combatant, but maybe [roll for initiative](http://www.d20srd.org/srd/combat/initiative.htm) next time? Besides, it’s not like you did that to purposely piss me off; you’re definitely more chaotic good nowadays anyway.” Peter offered with a smile that he hoped registered through his mask.

“Phfft, don’t let [Rob Liefeld or Fabian Nicieza](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deadpool) hear that,” Deadpool added as he leaned back on his forearms and laughed to himself.

“I have no idea who either of those two people are, so I guess they’re never going to know.”

“Heh,” Wade giggled, “you’re all right, Webs.” He still hadn’t bothered to pull his mask back down even though he’d already finished eating, and Peter couldn’t help but notice how charming Wade’s smile really was when he wasn’t forcing it. Had his teeth always been so straight and pearly white? Peter caught himself running his tongue over his own crooked teeth under the Spider-Man mask. They weren’t wholly noticeable to the untrained eye, but he still knew they weren’t perfect.

“Ya know,” Wade started up again, his voice sounding wistful and kind of far off. “I think you’ve changed a little. Not like I’d never expect you **not** to, or even be mad at you if ya did, but there’s definitely something different about you since the last time we hung out like this.”

“Is that bad?” Peter ventured, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

“Hm? Nah,” Wade started rocking back and forth, his boundless energy finally starting to revv up now that he’d been fed. “You never do anything bad.”

Peter tried not to laugh; Spider-Man couldn’t afford to be so jaded. “I dunno about that… I mean, we don’t really know each other outside of our masks,” he posited as he turned to catch Deadpool staring straight at him, the heat from the look so penetrating that Peter unconsciously brought his hand up to make sure his mask was still in place. The words, _whose fault is that,_ hung heavy in the air, but Wade never gave them voice.

They both knew the answer; no one needed to say anything.

“I’m really not as great as you think,” Peter continued on instead. “I make as many mistakes, probably more, if not way more than the average person. May—” he cut himself off and then thought better of it. What did her name matter anymore if no one could hurt her, or him, in death? “My aunt always used to say our family had this perpetual curse of bad luck. I’m pleased to report that after thirty-something years of living with this family name, I can strongly attest she was not wrong.”

“[I would rub an entire 36-carton of jumbo eggs all over you](https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/wnbxnn/cleanse-your-aura-with-the-power-of-eggs) if you thought it would help, sweetpea.”

Peter had no idea what that even had to do with anything, but the whites of Wade’s mask had grown exponentially at Peter’s previous slip-up. It showed that Deadpool was utterly enthralled with the idea of learning as much information about Spider-Man was he willing to give. And Peter should be freaking out about his little admission, but honestly, he reasoned with himself, what was the harm in Deadpool knowing such trivial information that was of no real consequence? There were millions of middle-aged men like him living in New York, let alone the whole entire world. His age, or a roundabout number thereof, was about as insightful to his secret identity as his inseam measurements; both numbers were completely useless outside of the right context.

“But you’re not wrong,” Peter took a moment to reach up and slide his mask back up over his nose. If they were going to talk about serious issues, he wanted to do this the right way. While they couldn’t exactly look at each other like normal people carrying on a conversation under all their spandex and leather, they could at least be equals in their displayed vulnerability. Wade hadn’t pulled his mask back down, so Peter wouldn’t hide half of his face either. “Visiting that other dimension showed me there’s a lot more good I could be doing, not just for New York or the multiverse in general, but for myself as well. I’m not trying to slim down just because I’m overweight, though I am, but more so because I just want to be healthier. Ever since my divorce—”

“WAITAMINUTE, SLOW YOUR ROLL, SPIDEY,” Deadpool leaned over a little close for comfort. “YOU NEVER TOLD ME YOU GOT THE **D**! I mean, most folks probably don’t wanna experience it that way, but you know me…” he trailed off.

“Well, yes, but that was months ago, I—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Wade interrupted again, “you mean to tell me, you got divorced _MONTHS AGO_ and never called?” The theatrics started up again. “Who was there for you afterwards? Please tell me you didn’t have to go through that all on your own! I’ve been through, like, five divorces, canonically, and lemme tell you, it _never_ gets easier.”

Spider-Man just shrugged back at him in response.

“You did **NOT** ,” Wade mock sobbed. “Why didn’t you say anything?! You know what, no, nevermind! Are you okay? Do you need cry it out on Daddypool’s big strong shoulder?”

“Okay, first off, never call yourself that in my presence ever again. We’re probably the same age, and [I’m not calling you Daddy in this or any other universe](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=312826&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=Daddy+Kink&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&commit=Sort+and+Filter&tag_id=Peter+Parker*s*Wade+Wilson).” Wade just smirked haughtily at the challenge, like he knew a secret he didn’t plan to share. “Second, no, I’m… well, I’m not exactly _okay_ , but I think I’m finally starting to get over grieving that part of my life.”

Wade just nodded to encourage Peter to continue.

“Meeting the other Spiders—”

“Wait, there were lady Spideys!?” Deadpool squealed at the genderless choice of title.

“How did you—”

Wade shook his head and rolled his eyes. How was his mask even capable of doing that? Peter had seen the inside of it before, and there were no advanced LEDs or electronics in the eye paneling. “Uhm, first off, you used the neutral term _Spiders_ instead of _Spider-Men_ , so yeah, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’re bein’ pee cee. And two, pretty sure I’ve told you about some of my otherworldly adventures before and let’s just say, [Rule 63](https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/rule-63)? True to a fucking T. So anyway, lady Spideys aside, how was it meeting weird alternate versions of yourself? Were any of ‘em gross and weird?” Wade exaggerated a gasp and slapped a hand against his forehead like an angst-ridden Southern Belle. “Please don’t tell me one of them was undead and tried to take a good sized hunka chunka out of you ‘cuz boy howdy, that’s never fun!”

“What!? No!” Peter kicked Deadpool in the shin, but there was no real strength behind it. “They were all very normal and probably way more capable than I ever was at their age… but, well, that’s the thing, they were all way more capable than I _ever was_ when I was their age. And it got me thinking, how I’d been sitting around wallowing in self-pity for months, just… _wasting away_ ever since the divorce. Now I want to…” Peter tried to put his motivation into something tangible.

“I just wanna do better… _be_ better.”

Wade sat back as though he accepted the answer at face value, simple though it was. “That’s actually pretty amaze-balls though, that meeting alternate versions of yourself made you wanna strive to be a better person. Def inspirational and what not.” He waved his hand off in the general direction in front of himself. “Ya know,” Wade continued on, “Usually when I run into other versions of myself in multiverses, they just make me wanna kill myselves. In fact, I don’t know how anyone tolerates me if I can barely stand myself.” He turned to look back at Spider-Man and offered him another lop-sided smile. “So, see? Told ya you’d never do anything bad. It’s just me who can’t seem to play nice with others.”

“Debatable,” Peter told him, finally moving to stand up. “We’ll see whether or not things go good or bad once I get through the rest of the bullet points on my agenda.”

“Oooooh,” Wade gushed. “Is it a _sexy_ agenda?”

“Hardly,” Peter snorted as he stretched his arms back over his head, twisting this way and that to limber up before they set out on their patrol. “More like a self-help guideline that I gave myself with a time limit. I’m gonna right the wrongs, get her back—”

“Whoa, [ope](https://www.thenorthwestern.com/story/life/2020/05/04/ope-sorry-deeper-look-into-midwests-favorite-expression/3003713001/), oh no, hold up!” Deadpool shot up next to Peter and reached out to grab onto his upper arm. “What do you mean ‘get her back?’ Get **who** back? You don’t mean the ex-wifey, do ya? ‘Cuz if you do, you might just be settin’ yourself up for more heartache in the long run. Listen pal, there’s a reason why folks get divorced, [mkay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KqOsrniBooQ)? They grow apart, they stop loving each other, they want different things; you get the picture! You can’t exactly fix that with a little band-aid, promises to do better, and some hope!”

Peter pulled away in anger. He could feel it slowly bubbling up just beneath the surface. How dare Wade assume Peter was some kind of child who hadn’t thought that possibility through? Of course he knew failure might be one of the reasonable outcomes, but seeing her again in Miles’ universe, her vibrant red hair and sparkling blue eyes, mourning over another him, a better version of himself… if he could just get his act together, tell her that he was ready to commit to the idea of them and not just him because he was man enough now to admit that it was time to stop using Spider-Man as an excuse, she might just come back. Maybe they could make it work this time. He had to at least try!

“I am aware, Wade,” Spider-Man seethed out through clenched teeth. He only ever played the name card when he was being deathly serious. “You may have had your own personal experiences, I get that and am not discounting them, but this is different. You don’t know her. You didn’t see her when—” He bit his lip to stop that statement before it was too late.

“When what?” Wade asked, no trace of judgement in his voice. “What happened in that universe Spider-Man?” That was the closest to Peter’s name he’d ever get in return from Deadpool. He didn’t know what else to call him after all, but not using a nickname and saying his full hero name was Wade’s version of serious.

“It doesn’t matter,” Peter tried to reason, rubbing at the sore spot where Wade had grabbed him roughly. Deadpool didn’t reach for him again but made no move to let Peter out of his sight either.

“That’s one big ol’ can of worms you **_really_** don’t wanna open, Webs. Multiverses don’t play by the rules you think they do. Whatever it is you’re thinkin’ about in that cobwebbed head of yours, it **never** works like that, believe me.” The tone of voice Wade used, just a hair’s breadth above a whisper, had never held so much conviction. Peter felt doubt cast its shadow over him for a fraction of a second before it vanished just as fast.

“Look, I _do_ believe you,” Peter tried to reconcile the awkward tension that had arisen between the two of them. When he peeked up into the upper right corner of his digitized mask lense, he noted the time. An entire hour had already passed without either of them realizing it. “I just… sometimes you gotta suspend your disbelief, right? If I have a chance, I want to see it through. Can’t you support that? Wouldn’t you want that for yourself, too? Another chance to make things right, if you could? If it were feasibly plausible, I mean?”

He saw Wade clench and unclench his fists out of the corner of his eye, but there were no other movements.

"I s'pose so," he finally said, after a time. "I just…" He hung his head and breathed out a sad sigh. It seemed to take him another moment to think of what to say, which was unusually out of character for his otherwise chatty self. He hadn't earned the nickname The Merc with a Mouth for nothing.

Hands came up to grip Peter’s shoulders firmly, and the determination in Wade’s voice shook something in Peter he hadn’t felt stirred since, well, meeting Miles. “If she breaks your heart, if she leaves you high and dry again, you… you gotta call me this time, deal?”

Letting go of one of Peter’s shoulders, Wade held his hand out for that very same silly handshake he’d turned down not too long ago. Peter laughed and shook his head while commenting that it was becoming increasingly obvious that they were, in fact, turning into old business partners the more time they spent together. He pushed the hand away. Instead, they opted to seal their agreement with a pinky promise, as they both agreed that was the only way _real men_ made concrete commitments they intended to keep.

When they finally let go, the ritual now complete, they set out to start their patrol. If they stayed out an extra hour past their usual quitting time because they enjoyed one another’s company, neither of them said anything about it.

Wade truly was a good friend. No, he was a great friend, Peter caught himself thinking more than once that evening, and that was all he felt he could ever hope for from anyone.  
  


* * *

  
When Peter finally decided to take his promised leap and reach out to Mary Jane, things had more or less stabilized in his life. Wade’s contact had managed to pull through and secure Peter a position as adjunct faculty at [The City College of New York](https://www.ccny.cuny.edu/). The pay wasn’t exactly stellar for an educator position, nor were the benefits, but it was better money than he’d been making at his prior lab job. And in terms of personal fulfillment, he could already tell that the effort he’d be putting in there was significant as it would positively impact the lives of his students. The only thing more important than crime fighting in the middle of the night was helping shape young minds during the day by way of education. Even if it wasn’t Columbia University, he still relished his new position as an associate professor in the chemistry department.

Science was, after all, his first true love.

Thankfully, the new job had given him plenty of free time during the week to continue working on his other goals. The studio apartment was almost as pristine as the day he’d moved in; he was definitely going to get the deposit back this time. His waistline had also managed to lose another inch or two from the regular exercise he’d been doing, and all of his pants were finally fitting well for the first time in months. The second to last point on the agenda, get a new place, would be possible in as little as three months time if Peter was smart with his finances.

Since snagging the teaching position at CCNY, he’d spent a few hours before and after class using the college’s free wi-fi to read up on proper money management. He even had a budgeting spreadsheet now and everything. Part of being a better man meant not using ignorance as an excuse to face his problems head on. He couldn’t expect MJ to mother him again. A real adult didn’t force their significant other to fill the role of a parent or caretaker, and Peter wanted to prove he could do things right this time. Only then would he truly be worthy of her.

He picked up his phone and thumbed through the contacts until he settled on MJ’s profile picture. Her pretty blue eyes and candid smile reflected back at him lovingly. Looking at her like this now almost made him forget they had separated more than half a year before, that the divorce had been finalized only months ago. It wasn’t like he was planning on asking her to remarry him right away; no, he realized a few weeks back that they’d need to relearn each other, learn to relove the parts of one another that had gotten them to say yes in the first place. It wouldn’t be impossible, but it definitely wouldn’t be as easy as it had been the very first time.

Swallowing his nervousness, he tapped the green phone icon and placed the phone up to his ear. The line rang three times before she picked up. He knew it was her before she even said a word. God, he missed just hearing her breathe. Was that normal? Should his reaction be worrisome? Peter didn’t care. He waited with bated breath for her to start the conversation.

“P-Peter?” She hesitantly asked, voice in near disbelief as though her caller ID was playing tricks on her.

“MJ,” he quietly exhaled.

“Peter!” She seemed to startle at the sound of his voice, her own shooting up an octave, “Oh my gosh, Peter! It’s… it’s been such a long time. I—” she cut herself off, “I thought you’d never speak to me again.” Hearing her say it like that, as though the admission physically pained her, made his heart clench.

Perhaps it’d been cruel, what he did to her. The reason for their lack of contact was entirely his fault, and he knew it. How many times had she attempted to reach out with an olive branch in the hopes of reconnecting with him? He’d even tried blocking her number for a brief period of time before the guilt of being so petty finally ended up getting to him.

Mary Jane had always been Peter’s friend first. Before their marriage, before they dated, she’d been an integral part of his life after Gwen’s passing. Of course she would have wanted to remain friends despite their marriage dissolving, even before the divorce lawyer was shaking both of their hands and telling them to move on with their lives. They’d both been counseled as though their failed relationship was merely a rite of passage that all adults would one day have to face. But that sentiment, despite its intention to offer comfort, wasn’t exactly true. Peter’s own parents, granted they had both been short-lived, supposedly had a torrid love affair that Hollywood might have envied. Even his aunt and uncle… had Uncle Ben’s death not been untimely either, Peter knew he would have tried to stay together with his Aunt May until the very end, no matter what.

Now that he had another chance to do things right, he promised himself that he wouldn’t mess it up.

“Yeah,” he tried to say with some unfelt confidence injected into his voice, “Yeah, it’s me. I—” He gnawed at his lower lip. Would it be too early to apologize now? Should he wait until they were able to meet face to face? Would that actually make it all feel less bad? He decided then that it wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier,” he told her.

“Oh, Tiger,” she tacked on her old favorite nickname, “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for… it… I sometimes wondered if I was being unreasonable… expecting you to—to be okay with everything, like nothing was wrong. I know that things aren’t—” He heard her shuffle on the other end of the line, probably running her fingers through her hair as was her habit when nervous. How did it look now? Was it still the same ruby red he’d always loved? Had she cut it short or let it grow? He swallowed thickly as he waited for her to continue. “Well, I know now that things can’t be the same as before.”

Peter caught himself nodding as she spoke. It made sense and hearing her address all of those past hurts directly made him feel lighter somehow. Maybe this time things would work out if they agreed to not make excuses to one another anymore.

“I know this is sorta outta the blue,” his hand came up to scratch anxiously at the nape of his neck, his own nervous habit that he’d formed as a teen and never seemed to grow out of no matter how old he got. “Would you… would you be willing to meet with me? F-for dinner, nothing else!” He quickly clarified in a stutter. It was absolutely not his intent to scare her away by coming on too strong. “I just… I want us to be able to talk again. You were… you were always my best friend, MJ.” The confession was whispered over the line, but he knew she’d heard him all the same.

“I—” her voice wavered slightly, and Peter had known her long enough to tell by the sound that she was getting tearful. “I think I’d actually like that very much.”

“Yeah,” he said as his own vision started to blur. Now was not the time for this, he told himself and turned his head away from the phone to covertly stifle a sniffle. “Me too.”

They talked a few minutes more, deciding on a place and time. In the end, they settled on an old favorite of Aunt May’s, a little Italian restaurant just outside of Queens that had an affordable menu with all the classics they’d enjoyed back when they were young and in love. Peter thought it quaint that their start and renewal of their relationship involved something related to Aunt May. Sometimes he wondered if losing her had been the tipping point for them, but it would appear she was still there in spirit to keep them bound together.

 _It’s going to take more than_ [_Disney noodles_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1nWNXO3CZkU&feature=youtu.be&t=80) _to fix this, though,_ Peter told himself, trying not to be overly optimistic. But, oh, how MJ had sweetly tried to hold back her tears. It sounded like she missed him as much as he’d missed her. He thought back to the other universe’s MJ. The way she’d cried while talking about her husband, the love of her life, the only man she’d ever love… the thought of them having that in his reality, the kind of love he knew they were capable of, well, it made his heart swell. This was something he was finally ready to fight for.

Setting the phone down, he vaguely recalled how Wade had tried to warn him about the fallacy of reconciliation. He’d told Peter that sometimes things didn’t work out, but that wouldn’t be the case with him and MJ, right? Peter’s only regret was that he had almost believed Wade. That would never be representative of his relationship with MJ.

He walked over to the wall calendar and penned 7:00 p.m. on the following Saturday night. He’d have to text Deadpool and tell him that their usual patrol would need to be rescheduled for Sunday or maybe not at all depending on how things panned out with his ex-wife.

For once, it felt like Peter was stepping out from under the dark cloud that had hung over him for the last year or so. When he walked past his life changing agenda in the kitchen, he stopped to cross out the fourth bullet point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two years of planning, writing, and editing. I hope this story was worth the wait. Thank you ever so much to my lovely beta, [Pineau_noir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineau_noir/), for sticking this out with me and my super ultra amazing artist, [WaterMe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaterMe/), for providing some jaw-droppingly beautiful artwork (THREE PIECES YOU GUYS) to go along with the story. Follow their links and give them some love. 💕


	2. The Merc Who Saved Me

* * *

  
Saturday came too fast. Peter’s weekly Chem classes had passed by in a blur, and the otherwise tedious chore of grading lab books on the weekend during his scheduled open lab period was kind of therapeutic as he mentally prepared for the evening that lay ahead. After he finished the last notebook and made sure the lab and all of its chemicals were secured, he eyed his watch to calculate the hours he’d have to kill before heading out so he could be on time at the restaurant. About two and a half, he noted.

Peter ran his fingers through his freshly cropped hair. He’d made time to get it cut earlier in the week, and although it was a much needed change, he still felt a little naked having it trimmed so short. Not that he’d ever grown his hair longer than a few inches from his scalp, but this new style was definitely going to take some getting used to. _Shouldn’t have let that student stylist choose the look_ , he internally groused.

By the time he finally left the school, rode the subway back home, and unlocked the door to his studio apartment, it was already half past four. Tossing his clothes off like he was getting paid to do it, Peter hopped into the shower and scrubbed himself like a man possessed. He knew that once he finished showering he’d have to attack that stubborn five o'clock shadow trying its damndest to resurface on his chin now that the sun was preparing to set. After a quick shave, he’d also needed to dedicate a good bit of time fighting with the new hair styling products that chatty little salon student had suckered him into buying. All that would be left afterwards was picking out what to wear for dinner. Overwhelming thoughts of all the mundane and menial tasks still left to complete kept him busy till his phone went off.

His alarm sounded around 6:15 p.m. as he finished buttoning the sleeves of his shirt. _Just in time._ He’d gone with one of his nicer work shirts, a button down with a large dark blue plaid pattern that he thought accented the brown in his eyes and hair, and a dressier pair of black denim jeans that had never been worn before. A final once over in the bathroom mirror left him feeling satisfied with his appearance. Peter grabbed his light jacket off the back of his desk chair and slipped his arms through the sleeves before he stepped into his only good pair of black high tops. He didn’t want to look too dressy but certainly not too casual. He figured this outfit was a nice middle ground.

The train ride took as long as expected, nothing more than the usual delays, but he still checked his phone’s digital clock religiously just the same. In the past, he’d stood Mary Jane up more times than he could count and vowed now that he’d never do it again if he could help it. As luck would have it, he beat her to the restaurant by a full five minutes. He was just getting ready to follow the hostess holding the menus when he saw her step through the revolving door. She looked much the same, her eyes a little more tired and her hair the tiniest bit less vibrant than he remembered. It might have been the dim lighting in the restaurant that washed her out, but Peter still found her lovely anyway.

She wore an olive peacoat with opaque black stockings tucked into soft-looking brown leather boots; a favorite fall combination of hers he’d seen time and time again.

MJ smiled at him as she softly clicked her way over until they were side by side. He gave her a nod in greeting, and they walked behind the hostess to their table seated in front of one of the restaurant's windows facing out toward the street. Temperatures were already starting to dip into the low sixties after sunset when Peter had first traveled to Miles' universe. Now, fall was beginning to leave its impression on the leaves outside as much as in the bite of the wind. He watched MJ shrug off her coat to reveal a long tasteful golden turtleneck and an old piece of Aunt May's jewelry hung around her neck. It was a simple silver chain with a tiny twist of five small diamonds that she had often favored for dressier occasions. Peter felt his eyes burn seeing it again after so long. Memories of his deceased aunt flooded through him, both good and bad. He wondered if MJ ever felt that way, too, whenever she put it on.

She must have realized that seeing it had upset him as her hand instantly came up to cover the seemingly offending piece of jewelry. "Oh, Peter," she leaned over to lay her free hand on one of his. Her touch was so slight, and her hand was so small. "I'm sorry, I didn't think—I just… it's how I keep her close to me."

“No.” He shook his head and tried to laugh through the difficult emotion even though he failed; it came out sounding wet. “It suits you… and she’d—I know May’d be honored that you keep her with you even now after… after everything.”

MJ appeared to take the comment to heart and released her hold on the necklace. The little diamonds glinted back at Peter. He opened his mouth to say something more but cut himself off as soon as he saw MJ do the same. They both chuckled quietly to themselves and tried again but ended up talking over each other once more. It happened a third time before the waiter found them, laughing at their continued inability to communicate.

Peter ordered them two glasses of a pricey chardonnay, MJ’s favorite, and eventually they fell into a rhythm, like how they used to talk pre-separation. Several sips of wine later, and Peter found himself telling her about what he’d been doing since they’d last spoken. He tried to leave out the parts where he’d felt weighed down with immeasurable sadness; he was sure she could guess as much on her own and instead chose to focus on how he’d made some new friends, rekindled an old friendship, and gotten his new position at the community college. He told her about some of his classes, even a few of his favorite students, but mostly he tried to highlight how he’d finally started making time for himself to begin working on the more dire aspects of his life that were in need of a change. She even laughed when he told her he finally felt competent enough to balance an online bank account.

When it was MJ’s turn to talk about herself, she was a bit more reserved. She told him she’d been doing well and was feeling much better now that she knew he was doing all right on his own. He learned that she still worked at the [Gershwin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gershwin_Theatre), now relegated to managing other young and aspiring actresses since her own stardom had never seemed to launch beyond its Broadway origins. In exchange for tales about his students, she told him about her two best and brightest pupils that reminded her of herself when she was younger. She also told him she had high hopes that one day they would both make it big, and Peter found himself toasting along with her to the future of her understudies and his own undergraduates in the hopes that their ambitions might never fade. Things had been going pleasantly enough up until that point and food was set to arrive any moment when Peter finally decided that now should be the time he brought up his true motive for inviting her out on such short notice.

He’d spent the entire week before trying to think up a speech that didn’t sound hopelessly desperate, but everything he’d considered saying prior to this moment seemed to fall short of conveying the true depths of his feelings. No words could ever give MJ the apology she deserved, and maybe he should have realized that sooner. It could have made what happened next hurt a whole lot less in the long run.

“Mary Jane,” He pulled out the first name card and prayed he was playing with a full deck. “I... the reason why I invited you out tonight was because—because I still—” he cut himself off as a new unknown and handsomely dressed man invited himself over to their table. The guy looked to be somewhere in his early forties, black hair slowly peppering here and there in small patches alongside his head in an artful way. The deep navy of his suit, attractively tailored to his svelte proportions, accented the hazel of his eyes nicely, and Peter couldn’t help but feel his hackles raise to some kind of unspoken challenge the man’s presence threatened.

“Sorry I’m late,” he apologized in a smooth baritone before leaning down to plant a familiar kiss on top of Mary Jane’s head. “Is this him, darling?”

The illusion of rekindling a relationship with her shattered right before Peter’s eyes like every pane of glass he’d ever been tossed through. All the restaurant's mood lighting no longer subdued colors and instead amplified them in garishly painful bursts of bright hues that burned into the backs of his retinas. Even the high-quality aftertaste of the wine from moments before seemed to sour in his mouth as it mixed with the taste of blood from his bitten cheek. Had Peter been more aware of himself, he might have noticed that he was cracking their dining table with his inhuman strength.

His eyes darted quickly between the two.

Spider-Man’s senses took in and analyzed their dress, their mannerisms, their proximity, everything; he finally saw _everything_. When he glanced down to the fingers of MJ’s left hand, there it sat. A ring he hadn’t managed to see before laughed at him in the same mocking way that people always had at Peter B. Parker’s miserable luck. How could he have missed that? It was on her left hand, the same hand she’d used to reach over and clasp his with, the same hand he’d watched her twirl her wine glass in for the past half an hour.

Hope had made him blind, and love had made him a fool. It was like nothing had changed at all. 

MJ was saying something, but it didn’t register. He could see, smell, taste, and feel everything intensely, but it was like the world was without sound. He was only able to focus on the blood rushing through his veins.

The stranger stood waiting with a hand outstretched for some sort of gentlemanly shake to dignify their first meeting, but nothing inside Peter felt civil. He reached into his jean’s pocket for his wallet and dug out a fistful of twenties. He wasn’t even sure of how many he grabbed, but it looked more than enough to cover the bill and then some. Without another word, he tossed them down and pushed himself away from the table before he stalked out of the restaurant with tunneled vision.

Stupid, how could he have been so stupid!? That ring held twice the amount of diamonds his engagement ring to MJ had. It was probably worth a small fortune compared to the meager amount of savings Peter had struggled to scrounge up for the downpayment on his. Had she even bothered to keep it? Had she pawned it or sold it or even thrown it away as it was just another awful reminder of how once being Mrs. Watson-Parker was an embarrassment for someone of her station? He gritted his teeth and roughly shoved the revolving door with barely restrained anger that bent the metal hand bar.

The cool breeze from earlier in the evening hit him first, and then the world slowly started to regain a hint of sound. A taxi zipped by and splashed a puddle of stagnant water against the curb, rats squeaked in the alleyway alongside the restaurant, and people could be heard talking quietly as they walked on the other side of the street. It was just another night in New York, and where the hell was he? He looked left, then right, and decided that it didn’t matter which direction he went in as long as no way took him home. Too many reminders of his most recent failure were waiting for him there, and he definitely wasn’t strong enough to face them right now.

He made it as far as the corner before Mary Jane caught up to him. The grip of her hand held more steel than he remembered when she grabbed his arm.

“Peter, wait!”

He stopped but refused to look at her.

MJ sighed heavily, somehow managing to sound more hurt than he was angry. But why was she the one who sounded heartbroken? Wasn’t she doing better for herself given their current circumstances post-divorce?

[ _Idiot_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TYcXSkLCK5M) _,_ Peter chastised himself. The engagement ring, the easy comfort she had held with that other man… they had to have known each other for longer than just a few months. That was the only plausible explanation his mind could accept, and that sudden realization filled Peter with such an intense rage. He finally learned that you could, in fact, see the color red. Was this mystery man the real reason she’d finally gotten the gumption to file the divorce papers on her own? Because she knew she could have it so much better with someone else? Because she knew she didn’t have to continue living her life with someone as lowly as himself?

“Peter Benjamin Parker.”

MJ's voice was tight and pleading. It was the only thing that finally made him turn and look at her. The first two things he noticed were that her hand was still clutching onto him and that her coat was missing. It appeared as though she’d run out right after him; it almost seemed like she cared about him, but the reality of the exchange he’d just witnessed between her and that other man just made him hurt even worse.

The face of a stranger’s, his own face, reflected back at him in the unshed tears of her eyes. Anything scathing he might have wanted to say to her died in his throat, and all he could manage was a single broken why; why this way, why to him, why now!?

“Oh, Tiger,” she shook her sorry head, crimson curls brushing along the tops of her shoulders, “I never meant to upset you like this. I just—I thought we were going to try to be friends. I thought, well, I don’t know what I thought… Maybe if I hadn’t invited Richard, we—”

Peter scoffed at that. “That’s his name, really?” He wasn’t even in the right state of mind to take a jab at his competiton’s laughably appropriate name though he still had enough sense to silently apologize to Deadpool for dismissing such a poetic set-up. _Guy’s parents certainly had some forethought to name him that. Not every day you get an easy chance at a dick joke._

“Look Peter, I’m sorry. I don’t know what you thought this was going to be, but I came here tonight because I thought we were going to work on fixing our **friendship**.” She brought herself closer using her grip as an anchor. Her free hand, the one with the ring, came up and stopped just shy of touching Peter’s chin. He felt his face harden.

She still looked and smelled and sounded the same, and something about that familiarly made Peter ache inside. If she told him right then and there that this was all some kind of elaborate joke, a scene she’d decided to act out just to test if he really loved her still, he’d have fallen to his knees and forgiven everything. He would have promised to forget this and chalk it all up to some kind of faulty memory issue or horrifying nightmare. He would have gladly done all of that and more even though it hurt his heart to think that his then-wife may have been cheating on him while he was out protecting their city and doing everything in his power to try and make their marriage work.

Had she even wanted it to near the end, or had she already given up? Peter knew he might never learn that answer and wasn’t even sure if he could handle the truth.

“How long?” he spat out anyway, still not bothering to pull out of her grasp on him. “For how long before…?” They both knew he was referring to their divorce.

“Five months,” she answered guiltily, her tone submissive as if she accepted that there was no acceptable excuse for her infidelity. Peter recounted the months in his head and realized that was around the same time the Avengers had recruited him to assist in some of their lengthier missions. He had gladly accepted them then, foolishly thinking that giving MJ space would be the solution to all of their problems when, in all actuality, it was probably what had driven them further apart instead. She’d already had the papers waiting for him on the kitchen table when he’d returned from his very last mission. Peter was even willing to bet that her lines were signed before she started packing her bags. If she already had a new place to call home, with a warm body waiting for her in a foreign bed, why would she ever have any more need of him?

Peter bit into the flesh of his lip and reached over to pry her fingers off his arm with a gentleness he did not feel. When he looked behind her, he saw the man who had cuckolded him, waiting patiently under the awning of the restaurant fidgeting with Mary Jane’s coat. A look of concern was written on his face, but he made no move to interfere in their conversation. It was a wise decision and probably one he had been cautioned to make at MJ’s behest. Peter could have easily snapped the man in half without a second thought and oh how fun that would be explaining his little _overreaction_ to the authorities.

Feeling that there was nothing more to say, Peter turned and stalked off just as MJ called out to him one last time. He froze at the sound of her high-heeled boots clacking on the pavement, counting each step that brought her physically closer yet further away from his heart.

“Oh, Peter,” she sighed once more, lowering her voice so that only they might hear, “we both know that in any universe where the world needs Spider-Man, you and I can never be together.”

Her words hit him harder than any punch he’d ever received in his life, from a human or a mutant, and it left him breathless. It felt like he’d been sucked into another dimensional portal, atoms and molecules broken and rebonded before he was tossed out of the sky and skidded across the concrete like trash. This new reality was so familiar and yet so strange. His chest constricted as he walked away without another word, leaving _Richard_ to see her home. He didn’t even want to think about what they would say after he left and did his best to dissociate himself from everything instead. Now was not the time to ruminate on could’ves, would’ves, or should'ves. What Peter needed now was to focus on losing himself for a few hours or, better yet, a few days.

His feet carried him down more blocks than he could count, and the lure of flashing neon lights called to him from above a small liquor store. Why, they practically invited him in with their promise of alcohol-fueled amnesia. He swiped his credit card, uncaring of how much the total was and ignored the shopkeeper's warning of excess as he exited with a concerning armful of alcohol. If he was lucky, it might be enough to erase the next few hours; damn his mutated metabolism for always getting in the way of normalcy’s desired effects!

Peter climbed the nearest, tallest building he could find, totally unconcerned if someone saw him oddly _parkour_ his way up the side. It didn’t feel like anything mattered at this point. Who cared if Peter Benjamin Parker was Spider-Man anyway? Being super really wasn’t so _super_ after all. He reached into one of the large brown paper bags and forced the twist cap off of the first bottle he got ahold of with his thumb. The bite of the liquor burned his throat as he chugged the contents, but he paid it no mind. It stung his insides a lot less than his heart breaking hurt, but that was the point, wasn’t it?

A couple more bottles later, his fingers were starting to feel numb, and he could almost pretend it’d just been a bad dream. Peter checked his phone and watched the numbers begin to blur at the edges. Close to ten o’clock… but when all of the alcohol was gone, he was still standing. That’s when a brilliant idea hit him. Was there ever a better way to redirect his focus then go out on patrol? Spider-Man had been the cause of all this, after all.

He left his mess on the roof and stumbled off in search of home.  
  


* * *

  
One trip up to the studio for his suit and another visit to an all-night liquor store later, paying with cash this time because he wasn’t so far gone to forget old habits in costume, found him haunting the roof of the same apartment complex he and Deadpool had been frequenting now for weeks. He was in the middle of trying to web-shoot his empty bottles when his phone went off in his side pocket. Why was that even ringing? Had he taken it with him by accident? He rolled over from his seated position on the concrete and fiddled with the hidden seam in his suit before finally managing to dislodge the device. A new message from **DP (hehe)** appeared on the main screen, but he could barely make out the words.

**howd it go?**

He tipped himself back and landed with a thud on the hard surface of the concrete and thumbed over the message to swipe it off his screen. He closed his eyes. Another message came up shortly after, but he chose to ignore it and looked up at the swirl of twinkling city lights and faded stars. If he was being completely honest with himself, he’d always hated how New York took any natural beauty that existed and coated it in a layer of pollution and grime. He could barely make out any of the constellations Uncle Ben had taught him back when he was a kid.

The phone buzzed in his hand again but more incessantly this time. He hadn’t let it go when he’d laid back, and now it was more of an annoyance than it before. As if he’d forgotten the reason why he was ignoring it in the first place, Peter swiped the phone icon to answer instead of hang up by mistake. A voice called out to him from the speaker, and with his enhanced hearing, he didn’t need to bring the earpiece up to his face to make out who it was.

“[Ayyy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZWwMre0PuTQ) , you finally picked up! What’s good in da hood? You okay over there? Sent you, like, FIVE TEXTS, no big D or anything, but you’ve ignored _every single one of ‘em_! What did we pinky swear on, bud? You can’t make a sacred promise like that and **NOT** follow through!”

The sudden stream of chatter that Wade spewed out caused Peter to panic!stick to his phone in a drunken haze of misguided neural signalling. He really just wanted to throw his cell off the building but no part of his body was willing to cooperate, [so with words instead he answered](https://www.quickanddirtytips.com/education/grammar/yoda-grammar).

“M’fine,” he garbled out, thinking himself more lucid in his head than he actually sounded.

“Uh-huh, [riiiiiiight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37OWL7AzvHo), cuz you certainly don’t sound drunker ‘ana skunk on a hot tin roof,” came the scathing reply.

“You—” Peter dragged the phone up against the side of his spandex covered ear and fumbled with the lower seam of his mask using his free hand. He pulled it up just high enough for the material to get caught uncomfortably in his mouth. “You can’ maz-up espressionz ly’ that,” he slurred out the chastisement and listened as Wade chuckled cynically in the background.

“Okay, sweetness, where are ya? Let ‘ol Poolpal come over and help you sober up. If you’re good, maybe he’ll even give you a ride home ‘cuz I’m pretty sure it’s a [misdemeanor to publicly wander around intoxicated](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Public_intoxication#United_States) in these United States.”

Peter hesitated for only a second, the promise of company easily triumphed over the desire for solitude now that he remembered he didn’t have to face things alone. Wade was willing to meet him, had even offered to help take care of him. And despite his somewhat drunken stupor, Peter knew that he needed all the help he could get. He bit back a sob as he told Wade he was on _their_ rooftop and listened to the rustling sounds of his friend moving around in the background. He talked to Peter the entire time, from the moment he’d called until his footsteps could be heard echoing up the building’s fire escape. Peter hadn’t moved since he’d answered the phone and was still laying on his back watching the skyline grow progressively darker as more and more city lights switched off in the late hours of the morning.

“Yo, Spidey-pie, you decent up there?” Wade’s voice called out from somewhere to the left, and that was precisely when Peter’s sticky fingers finally decided to release his phone. It fell next to his head with a loud clunk.

“Yeah,” he garbled out, hands and feet still not coordinated enough to allow for much movement off the ground. Peter rolled around until he was able to prop himself up against something sturdy.

Looking over with only mildly spinning vision, he watched as a familiar figure in red and black approached.  
  


* * *

  
“Oh [Uggs](https://www.ugg.com/) , Spidey, [are you white girl wasted](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ad8MVavEzE0&feature=youtu.be&t=23)? Did you drink, like, an entire wall at the liquor store? That’s not actually what a fifth means.” There was the sound of clinking glass as Deadpool’s combat boots shuffled about, trying hard not to break any of the bottles that littered the area in between them. Broken ass was a pain in the glass, so it was worth being mindful when he could afford to be.

Wade found Spider-Man pressed up against the very ventilation system he’d broken nearly two months before. His cellphone was on the ground next to him, still lit up with a disconnected dial tone ringing, and his mask was rolled up weirdly on half of his face. The visible skin Wade could see was red and blotchy, sticky-looking even, from what might have been tears. Wade had known Spider-Man a long time, and in all those years, he’d never seen the man cry.

“Oh, hey Spides, here, lemme just, yeah,” he reached out tentatively and picked up Spider-Man’s phone before closing out of the call. Without thinking, he stuffed the device into one of his empty utility pouches for safe keeping. His hero didn’t look like he was in the right state of mind to be trusted with easily breakable electronics. “You, uh,” Wade twisted to his left and dug into the first aid pouch he kept for civilian encounters that ended in unintentional boo-boos and pulled out a small packet of emergency drinking water. Canada was the first to put [milk in bags](https://www.foodnetwork.ca/shows/great-canadian-cookbook/blog/why-do-canadians-drink-bagged-milk/), so why not water too? Wade offered it to Spidey, but he turned his face away and mumbled something unintelligible.

“C’mon Webs, it’s just water! You’re not [Catman](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catman_\(DC_Comics\)).”

Spider-Man was very insistent on refusing the water, so Wade took a moment to scope out the rooftop. He counted at least ten empty bottles of vodka—yeesh, what an awful way to get lit. Was Spider-Man secretly [Russian](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_national_drinks#Europe) after all? He woulda never guessed; [the guy seemed more New York Jew](https://forward.com/culture/jewishness/375974/the-new-post-racial-spiderman-ignores-his-jewish-superhero-roots/) than anything else and not that it was a bad thing of course—some of those Brooklyn rabbis were actually kinda hot. Wade wouldn’t have minded getting to know them [Tanakh](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hebrew_Bible)-ly if they’d let him, _wink wink, nudge nudge._

“Wade…” Spidey whined out pathetically. “I dun feel so good.”

“Well,” Wade observed from where he was standing over his friend, “you certainly don’t sound it. C’mon frand, let’s get you back home. I swear, is this gonna become somethin’ habitual with you? How many times have I found you smashed on this rooftop now?”

“Nooooo,” Webs grumbled as Deadpool leaned over to help pry him off the vents by his arm.

“Really? You don’t seem like the forceful intervention type, but I will use the force if ya make me. Don’t make me,” [Wade warned with a showy fingerwave](https://youtu.be/532j-186xEQ?t=37).

Spidey’s lips made a weird expression, mouth still half-exposed from where he’d rolled up his mask, but he allowed Wade to help him stand up, sorta, by throwing one of his arms over Deadpool’s leathered shoulders. Wade wasn’t wearing his katanas tonight, and Webs might have questioned why if he wasn’t so out of it. 

“Where’re we goin’?” Spider-Man managed to ask while being tugged over to the fire escape.

Wade was careful to navigate them through the empty liquor bottle minefield. “You, my spidery friend, are going home to sleep off a potentially massive hangover, and I am going to make sure you get there safely.” They had just set foot on the second flight when Spidey grabbed onto a railing to stop their descent. “It… it didn’ wor’gout,” he slurred, slumping heavily against Wade’s shoulder.

“Oh yeah?” Wade asked sympathetically, reaching over with his free hand to uncurl a bright red gloved one off the railing. “What happened?” Spider-Man was silent for a few more flights before another sob burst out of him. Something like, _you were right,_ was all Wade could make out. “I was?” he asked dumbly as he walked them one step at a time down to the next landing. “About what?”

“Abou errything,” came the reply muffled into Wade’s shoulder. “I dunno why I… why I thoud this would be diffrnt…”

“What would be different?” Wade tightened his grip on Spider-Man’s midsection. They were paused just before the final landing. “What happened, Spidey?”

“He… he died,” Spider-Man wailed, leaning all of his weight on Wade now. “There wuz… there wuzza me there an’ ‘e died! The… the new Spaider-Man I met wuz jus’ a kid. He… he ‘ad my powers, but ‘e wuzn me. The udder me, the Peder me—”

Wade sucked in a harsh breath at the name drop.

That was not an intentional reveal, right? Peder, er, Peter, no, SPIDEY was just mad drunk! There was no way he trusted Wade enough to give up his first name so easily… but then again, he did seem hella wasted and just kept right on rambling. “Pe-Peder me ‘ad an MJ too, and they were married, but they were ‘appy. Why wuzn’t my marriage ‘ahppy? Why’d she hafta cheat on me, Wade? Wuznai good enuff? Ahm Spider-Man!”

“Yep, you definitely are,” Wade whistled nonchalantly as he hurriedly resumed their walk down the final flight of stairs. The last thing he needed for his intoxicated friendo was a curious passerby to catch Spidey divulging all his super secret secrets in a super drunken stupor. No way he’d ever let Wade live that down if Webs found out he hadn’t tried to stop it from happening. “Now then, let’s get—”

He was cut off when Peter, er, Spidey—he was really going to have to either commit to that name or forget it entirely with a bullet to the brain because Wade was seriously conflicted about how he’d come to learn it—tumbled out of Wade’s grasp and ripped his mask off so he could be violently ill against the side of the building they’d just descended.

“Waaaaaade…” he heard Peter whimper pathetically once he dropped down onto his hands and knees just shy of the puddle of vomit. He was still retching softly when he spoke again. “I dun… feel good.”

The sorrowful brown eyes that turned back to look at him were almost enough to instantly break Wade’s heart. _Shit,_ he thought while reaching into one of his back pockets for a wet-nap to clean the remaining sick off his friend’s chin. One momentous decision had just been made for him. Now that he’d seen Peter’s face, too, there was definitely no going back.  
  


* * *

  
They made decent time, all things considered. Wade had opted to forgo a taxi because it wouldn’t have been fair to the driver to bring someone as knowingly sloshed as Peter into their unsuspecting backseat. In fact, Spider-Man had been sick two more times before they even made it to the edge of his neighborhood.

 _Definitely the right choice,_ Wade congratulated himself for being ultra considerate this once. Oh yeah, it was [big brain time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EBnczwMjeao)!

He’d managed to slip Peter back into his mask and over his shoulders in a mockery of a piggyback ride. His companion was too weak at that point to do much else than slump against him for the remainder of their walk home. Sure, Spidey was a little heavier these days than when he was a young, studly twenty-something, but he didn’t weigh more than a special forces tactical rucksack ever had. Least… Wade didn’t think he did? Meh, his fucked up and mutated body barely registered the fatigue, so he kept right on walking.

Before he got sick the first time, Peter had dropped a heavy information bomb on Wade. The universe he visited had contained another, albeit more deaded, version of himself—never a good thing for the psyche. Whatever life that Spider-Man had been living and/or left behind had severely affected his own Spidey.

Wade had known the guy for years and never once seen him in such a state. How the mighty had fallen indeed; it was as comical as it was depressing. That was usually Wade's favorite kind of humor, except when it didn't involve him. He made sure to tuck that little bit of information away for later so that they could talk about it in detail once Webs was feeling better and in a more _sober_ state of mind. Though he didn’t surf alternate dimensions as often as he once had in the past, Wade was all too familiar with the mindfuckery that went on in between different planes of reality. Peter could definitely use a little TLC now that he’d been subjected to the worst kind of self-awareness—the kind that proved his universe might just be the biggest fuck-up out of all the other universes in the history of universes.

Wade promised himself he wouldn’t forget to tell Peter that belief couldn’t be further from the truth. He might have been slightly biased because he always liked the Spideys he’d met during his multiverse travels, [EXCEPT THAT ONE MADE ENTIRELY OUT OF SPIDERS](https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Spiders-Man_\(Earth-11580\)), **_FUCK_** , but he knew for sure that he liked this universe’s Spidey best.

That had to mean something.

“Hey, Webs!” He jostled the shoulder under Peter’s masked chin to stir him. “I think we’re home. You uhhh… you got a key or something? I don’t really wanna break and enter into your house—violates bro code and all that.” There was some muffled speech that almost sounded like Spidey was waking up, but then he grew silent just as fast. The comedic snore that followed immediately after was like a hilarious cherry on top of the shit situation sundae.

“Dammit,” Wade cursed under his breath. He was too polite to try and wake Spider-Man but also just pervy enough to feel him up. “Always gotta make Pool do things the _hard_ way, huh?”

It took a little finesse, but he somehow managed to juggle Peter and dig inside his hidden suit pocket to discover… nothing. The guy had no key nor wallet. Double dammit. Huffing at the unsatisfactory find, Wade readjusted Spider-Man and made for the back alleyway. There was a fire escape there he could use, had already used twice before, and if he was lucky, his thrice damned Webheaded friend might have remembered to leave a window unlatched so they could get in.

By the time they finally got inside Peter’s apartment, blessed window thankfully cracked, it was well past three in the morning. Deadpool decided to skip the obligatory wake and rinse—let Spidey wallow in the taste of next day sick because, seriously, nothing like that to swear you off heavy drinking for a while—and deposited his charge on the ill fitting twin-sized bed in the middle of his room. Peter’s body curled in on itself the second he hit the sheets, and had he not started mumbling and kicking them off the bed, Wade might have just excused himself without so much as a second thought.

 _We really should undress him if we’re not gonna help him wash his nasty mouth out,_ he reasoned, one hand on his hip while he quietly tapped a foot in contemplation. _Guy’s gonna be mad though,_ he also warned himself, trying to logically abstain from the growing urge to mother hen his bestie.

_You take that mask off now and there’s really no going back from this._

Damn. Damn damby dammit! “[Mitch Hedberg](https://www.quotes.net/quote/58605) would be proud of us.” Wade applauded himself silently before approaching the bed and carefully turning Spidey onto his stomach to slip him out of his mask and suit. Once the mask was off again, Wade took a moment to swoon because _OMG Peter is such a dreamboat_ , then he paused to consider how to go about removing the rest of the Spider suit. _Does he like sleeping nekkid? Does it even matter if we see his shlong now or not? We’ve practically seen everything else,_ Wade mused while struggling to remove Peter’s arms from his sleeves.

In the end, Wade decided it was the safe choice to leave any undies that he found on. And if, in the rare circumstance, there were no undies… he feigned fanning himself, the lower half of the suit would remain.

The rest of the spandex came off easily enough and badgood news: there were, in fact, [underoos](https://youtu.be/3BtGvV_OqSE?t=11) after all! Without anything left symbolizing Spider-Man between the two of them, Wade was once again confronted by the very human face of his longtime idol. He was definitely more rugged-handsome than Wade had imagined, but there was something about his face that just pulled at Wade’s heartstrings. Peter looked so tormented, even now in sleep, that Wade just could not!

He reached forward tentatively to run his gloved fingers through the sweaty mess that was Spidey’s mask-head hair. _Definitely the only perk to being bald,_ Wade thought as he gently pet Peter’s brown mop back into submission. Webs whimpered pitifully and leaned into it, clearly unaware that it was Deadpool who was doing the touching. In fact, Wade was pretty sure that if Peter knew who it was behind all of this drunken aftercare, he wouldn’t be so into it.

“[No homo may have been cancelled this year](https://wokennews.com/2019/12/29/no-homo-is-cancelled-for-2020/),” Wade reminded himself under his breath, “so we’re not purposely trying to overstep bounds… just makin’ sure he’s okay is all.”

“Mmm… MJ…” The name tumbled out of Peter’s mouth, and Wade’s hand came to a sudden stop. He sat back and looked down sadly at the tears beginning to form in the corner of Spidey’s scrunched up eyes. Marriage was dumb and shitty even if it only ended up doing this to people [a little less than half of the time](https://time.com/5434949/divorce-rate-children-marriage-benefits/). It really broke his heart.

“Peter, Peter, pumpkin-eater had a wife but couldn’t keep her...” Thinking he was clever with the little nursery rhyme, Wade leaned forward and used the hand still on Spidey’s head to tilt his face toward Wade’s own. “Webs, you might not wanna hear this, but I still care about you,” he whispered in the dark and leaned forward to press masked lips to Peter’s forehead before finally standing up and leaving.  
  


* * *

  
When Peter awoke the next morning, it was to a mild headache, a funky taste in his mouth, and little to no clothes on his person. Well, no Spider suit at least. Whoever had undressed him for bed managed to leave behind some of his dignity—or shame, depending on how you looked at it—by leaving his tighty-whities alone. Peter slapped a hand over his face and groaned. What the hell had happened last night? He remembered the disastrous results of his _not_ date with MJ, the all encompassing and crushing reality that they were [never ever getting back together](https://youtu.be/WA4iX5D9Z64?t=43) again, and then… whatever else happened afterwards was still a little hazy.

Peter rolled over and saw the LED light flash on his phone. Messages, but from who?

Reaching out to grab it, Peter had to hang on to the sheets to keep himself from spilling out of bed and onto the floor. He could have sworn someone had called him after he’d gotten toasted, but he wasn’t exactly sure who. Peter promised to check the call log after he reviewed these new messages. Thumbing the lock screen off his phone, he tapped the new message icon and rolled his eyes when he saw they were just from Deadpool.

There were four unread messages.

**WAW U WUR SO 🍻🥴🤢 LAST NITE**

**👀 ur face n put u 2 🛏️ dun b mad**

**if u wan me 2 4get just say da word 🔫**

[**📱 me,** 📟 **me, if u wan 💬 me**](http://youtube.com/watch?v=5NIDnC8WA-k&feature=youtu.be&t=33)

“Sonuva—” Peter fell out of bed and smacked his head on the floor. The result of his latest head trauma was that some of the foggier parts from the previous evening were starting to clear up. Deadpool, no, Wade had been the one to call him after he’d gotten trashed on the roof. Something about sacred pinky promises and whatever else before he’d gotten sick against the side of the building. That could explain the horrible taste lingering in his mouth but why would—

_I dun… feel good._

Peter thumped his head against the floor again. He remembered that now. _Idiot_ , he scolded himself, _you showed him your face!_ How anticlimactic, his major life-changing face reveal had ended in vomit and shameless sniffling. Truly a great example of _Parker Luck_ in action. At least it had only been Wade, and they could still talk about it, apparently, if his text was anything to go by regardless of whatever that water gun emoji meant.

Sighing heavily against the cheap woodgrain, Peter pushed up off the floor and tried to remind himself that there was no use crying over spilled milk, or in this case, secrets. He may have accidentally shown someone his face, but he hadn’t told them his name, right? Right. He could handle this like a grown man because that’s what he was. First things first, he needed to get up and get clean. He felt gross after a night of heavy drinking and whatever other self-destructive behaviors he’d engaged in that he could scarcely remember.

Two and a half hours later, now clean and dressed, Peter was still staring blankly at his phone, debating what to text Wade. He’d already gotten his pity cry out in the shower, thoroughly scratched out the fourth bullet point on his _Change Your Life_ agenda, again, and was now tasked with the uncomfortable position of confronting Deadpool about a night he barely had any memory of.

Peter had already come to the decision that he wasn’t mad at the other man for seeing his face. Upon closer introspection, it occurred to him that the limited number of people who might recognize him outside of his suit couldn’t actually harm him with that knowledge now that MJ was indefinitely out of the picture and Aunt May had long since passed. It had just taken him until this mid-life crisis to realize that the only person he was really protecting by remaining so stand-offish was himself.

Truth be told, Deadpool had known where Spider-Man lived for more than a month but had never bothered to do anything malicious with that information, so why was Peter still suspicious of his motives? Did it really matter that Wade had seen his face too? Peter sighed again and tapped the message icon. Wade had been surprisingly quiet after this morning’s texts. That alone was more foreboding than comforting and made it harder for Peter to know what was the right thing to say. They definitely needed to talk, but how? When?

He tentatively tapped out two words.

**_Meet tonight?_ **

Peter read the message once, twice, wondering if it was too vague. _He did offer first though,_ Peter reminded himself and pressed send. It only took a minute for Wade to reply.

 **sure bb 🗺️ & ⏰ u wanna** 🍖

He read and typed back a response. Peter knew the perfect place.  
  


* * *

  
Wade whipped out his phone and checked the time again. It was a little after eight o’clock, very early by vigilante patrol standards, but Wade was nothing if not flexible. He’d chosen to leave Bea and Arthur at home tonight and had settled with a matching pair of automatic pistols, loaded with rubber bullets, that he’d strapped to his sides over the top of his [handy-dandy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gbrjl4W0IOc) utility belt because if there was one thing he’d learned from Batman, it was that you could never have enough pouches. The wicked looking hunting knife he’d also hidden inside his boot aside, Wade wasn’t really anticipating any sort of crime-fighting tonight because Peter, er, Spidey had texted him earlier saying that he wanted to talk. About what, Wade figured he could guess.

He’d passed the ball of what to do regarding Spider-Man’s secret identity over to the web-head's court as soon as he’d gotten back home last night, but really more like this morning. He wouldn’t have felt right lying to his best… well, only friend. A snide inner voice reminded him that despite his attempts to be chivalrous, he’d done the exact opposite by withholding the fact that he now also knew Spider-Man’s first name.

“Pssh, one little detail like that does not a full-blown lie make,” Wade sassed himself out loud, continuing to swing his costumed legs over the very edge of the roof he’d first reunited with Spidey on. “It’s not like I’d do anything bad with it anyway…” _Except maybe fantasize to it._

“Do anything bad with what?” came a familiar voice. Wade bailed on that last train of thought and turned around to greet Spider-Man as he made his way across the roof from the fire escape. Suits, ‘ey? He could handle this.

“Never you mind what that was,” Wade squeaked before hopping to his feet. He was about to step forward when one of Webs’ red gloved hands came up and tugged his mask off.

 _GASP! HE DID IT ON HIS OWN!_ [_WHAT A TWEEST_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kdhhQhqi_AE) _!_

That face, those eyes, the bed-raggled mess that was Spidey’s shorter than expected hair… all the spit inside Wade’s mouth instantly dried up. He had not been expecting this. “Peter,” he whispered the name out loud before he could stop himself.

The easy smile that had first greeted him on Peter’s lips fell away as he dropped his mask. In an instant, Peter had ducked low in a defensive position, turning back into the overly cautious and wary man who’d always hidden underneath the Spider-Man suit. _Shit,_ Wade cursed, _we fucked up and forgot he’s got super enhanced hearing!_

“Wade…” Spidey, no, Peter because he was showing his face right now, warned in a low, threatening tone. “What did you just say?”

“Uhhh, uhm, about that…”

A sticky thread of web thwipped Wade straight in the chest, and next thing he knew, he was being tethered down to the roof of the building he’d spent the last half hour tidying up in preparation for Spider-Man’s arrival.

“WHA—WAIT, WHY!?” He thrashed against his bindings. “WHY AM I THE ONE GETTING TIED UP!? YOU CAN’T DO THI—” Wade’s yelling was subsequently cut off by a gloved hand to his masked face.

“How do you know my name!?” Peter demanded, lowering himself so that he could stare straight into Wade’s white eyes. He struggled to talk for a second but then realized all of his attempts to converse would be futile until Peter removed his hand. It only took Spidey a few more seconds of Wade’s muffled replies to finally figure out what was stopping him.

“My name,” he repeated now that he’d sat back, one hand raised menacingly, “how do you know it?”

“ _You_ told me!”

Peter scoffed in disbelief. “I would nev—you must’ve tricked me!”

Wade groaned loudly and wished desperately he could use his hands to get at his phone. “Reach in my third right pouch,” he directed Peter.

“What?”

“I said,” Wade reiterated like an angry pre-teen to a parent, “reach into my third right pouch.”

“If you think this is funny, I’m not—”

“REACH IN THE POUCH!”

Peter visibly startled at the volume of Wade’s voice but moved to do as he’d been told. When he undid the clasp, a smartphone with a chipped screen fell out. He reached over to pick it up and show it to Wade. The screen was locked with a passcode prompt.

“[0-6-1-9-6-2](https://www.marvel.com/articles/comics/today-in-marvel-history-spider-man-s-first-appearance) ,” Wade repeated from memory. The numbers likely held no significance to Peter, so he didn’t question Wade and thumbed them in before turning the phone back to his prisoner. “Click on the gallery.” Again, Peter listened and thumbed open the gallery app. An image of Wade on the roof with two large trash bags of assorted glass bottles bordered by cutesy frames and stickers greeted him. There was even a second one with him, Peter’s butt actually, in his Spider-Man suit tossed over Wade’s shoulder. That one showcased Deadpool in a classic Japanese school girl pose with a hand thrown up in a V and the word _Kyyyyyyaaaaa!!!!!_ typed under his chin. 

“What’re these?” Peter’s brow furrowed deeper as he continued to shuffle through the pictures.

“Evidence,” Wade explained, trying to see if he could discretely dislocate his shoulder and slither out of the webbing unnoticed. “You were _crazy_ drunk last night… didn’t answer my texts. Had to… call you and come get you,” he huffed as his struggling increased the pressure on his right shoulder joint. A strong hand clapped down on him a second before the head of his humerus popped out of the socket.

“Don’t. Move,” Peter warned once more, powerful fingertips digging into his suit through the webbing and, oh yeah, that was Spider-Man’s super strength finally making an appearance. Wade did a smart and stayed still.

“You see all those bottles? You made a huge mess on the roof last night. I got here earlier and cleaned it up! Didn’t think you’d believe me cuz you were trashed. HELLA. Really far gone, threw up like three times!”

“Thanks for recapping that for me,” Peter sighed. “But what I’d really like to know is how you learned my name.”

“Oh,” Wade shrugged under the weight of Peter’s hand. “I already told you,” he chirped, “it was you. You’re the one who gave it to me!”

Seemingly wide-eyed and horrified at another one of his forgotten slip-ups, Peter let go of Wade and fell back on his ass. Even though he must have remembered Wade saw his face during last night’s rooftop fiasco, Peter had still opted to appear in full Spidey regalia today. Wade had figured that was more of a personal choice thing, so he wasn’t bothered by the other’s desire to hide behind the guise of anonymity. Hell, he still wore his own mask for abcde, lmnop, and all those other xyz reasons too.

One of Peter’s hands scrambled backwards, frantically searching for his Spider-Man mask, and Wade couldn’t help but feel kind of sorry for the guy. It was definitely too little too late for that now.

“Why would I… I wouldn’t—”

“Yuh-huh, in the right state of mind you probably wouldn’t, butcha weren’t yestaday, so ya most definitely did.” Wade said matter-of-factly, watching his hero hurry to hide his face.

“How? Why would I…?”

“You were drunk, remember? Now, if you’ll untie me, I’ll tell ya more of the nitty-gritty once I’m free,” Wade grumbled, resuming his struggle.

“S-sure,” Peter stuttered out, clamoring up on his knees and ripping the webbing away with just a hint of super-powered strength.

“Much better,” Wade sighed happily and held out an expectant hand for his phone. Peter obliged and sat back on his feet, hands folded meekly in his lap.

“Soooooo, you mentioned something about errythang was bad, and I was right, but then you started talkin’ about some other Peder, DAMMIT, Peter from another universe and how he was happily married, and why couldn’t that be you or some shit, but I don’t really remember all of that conversation. A writer’s slurred text can be a disaster for readers to figure out. Would probably need to re-read that whole mess again to decipher what they wrot—”

Wade’s rambling was interrupted by a strange noise coming from Peter. It almost sounded like he was laughing to himself, but laughing at a situation like this wasn’t socially appropriate, right? Right, so Wade leaned over to check. “Spides?”

It only got louder.

 _Yep, guy’s finally gone off the deep end,_ Wade mused internally as Spider-Man’s growing laughter became worrisome the longer it went on. Personally knowing a thing or two about losing your marbles, this was not something that Wade wanted for Peter.

“Hey, hey… take it easy,” he reached out and grabbed hold of Peter’s shaking shoulders. It was then that the man’s laughs transformed into sobs.

“Everything’s so messed up, Pool,” Peter managed to get out before slumping over onto Deadpool’s leathered shoulder. Wade pulled him in close for a hug. It should have been awkward considering Spider-Man had just webbed him to the roof and threatened him, but it wasn’t. Wade was a total idiot, but he could understand why Peter had gotten so defensive about someone else knowing his name. It was only logical that someone with a secret identity they’d been hiding for years feel threatened by others uncovering it.

Instead of being hurt that Peter didn’t fully trust him, because honestly, Wade didn’t even trust himself sometimes, he focused on rubbing small, comforting circles in between Peter’s shoulder blades. He promised he’d be there for Peter, and he’d meant it, no matter what. “Tell me what happened, Spidey. I can’t help ya if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“I… I don’t—”

“Let’s start with what happened to that other version of you before ya met new!Spidey,” Wade suggested, not stopping his hand motions. “You said he died… how?”

“I dunno,” Peter shrugged weakly. “He was… already dead when I got there.”

Wade pursed his lips under his mask but asked anyway. “How were you sure? That he was dead, I mean.”

“I saw the announcement,” Peter said, leaning back in Wade’s loose embrace. “When I got there, I crashed in the middle of downtown and saw my face plastered on every display with the headline: [New York’s Hero, Spider-Man, Found Dead.](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/a5/ea/a4/a5eaa49800426bb87c1f6655e227790e.jpg) It didn’t say _how_ he died, but I’m sure he was dead.”

Looking up, Wade hummed in thought. “What about the other stuff?”

“What other stuff?”

“The uh… happy laifu, sad waifu stuff you were on about. You also talked about the new Spider-Man.”

“Look, Pool. The new Spider-Man I met was just a kid who’d gotten bit by some other kind of radioactive spider. He had all my powers and some other weird ones I’ve never had and likely will never have in my life. He’d already met _that universe’s_ me and said that I’d offered to teach him how to become Spider-Man. But I’d never do that! It’s reckless to endanger kids, even superpowered ones, plus I’m bad with children!”

“[That’s a mood](https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Eleanor_Camacho_\(Earth-616\)),” Wade chuckled darkly, “but what about your wif-ah, ex-wife?”

“Wife?” Peter repeated, and Deadpool nodded comically like a bobble-head. “There was a public announcement from his widow, my— _our_ wife. She sounded so heartbroken, Pool. That really… messed me up inside, and maybe it’s because of my divorce here, but looking at her there, at him… it was almost like I _was_ him, and if _I_ hadn’t died, then we could’ve been happy.”

“You don’t know that,” Wade interjected.

“Maybe I don’t, but that version of me was everything I could’ve been… what I _should’ve_ been, Wade! That Peter was actually beloved by his city, by his wife… who didn’t cheat on him, AND he even had the nerve to be great with kids!” Peter threw his hands up in defeat. “Did I ever tell you why we separated in the first place?”

Deadpool shook his head.

“She wanted kids… kids, Pool!” He spat the word out like a curse and then looked down before he whispered out, “I couldn’t give her a family. I was scared. Being Spider-Man has always caused trouble for my loved ones. I… I didn’t want to have more to lose, but then I lost everything anyway. I really messed up,” he groaned, both hands reaching up to rub at his mask-covered face.

“I thought I had a chance to fix things when I came back here, but it just backfired on me instead, like it always does, and that’s why you had to come pick me up off the roof and take me home yesterday. I’m sorry, Pool… Wade,” he amended. “I’m a real fuc—”

“Ah-ah,” Wade tutted as he grabbed hold of one of Peter’s wrists to interrupt him. “You don’t swear in my headcanon so don’t even think I’m gonna let you finish the next thing you were just about to say. You’re not a mistake, Spidey; you’ve never been one. You’re like… the greatest superhero I know, and I know a lot of ‘em!

“Sometimes,” Wade tried to explain, “when you travel to other universes, it’s cool and fun and exciting; and other times, it’s really shitty, [terrible, horrible, no good and very bad](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexander_and_the_Terrible,_Horrible,_No_Good,_Very_Bad_Day) when it hits too close to home. I’m sorry your first interdimensional experience had to be one of the heavier ones, but you gotta remember: Infinity is infinite! If you think you’re the worst universe out there, you’d be wrong. Hell, I’ve met a me [who’s just a nasty, rotting head that uses a beanie with a propeller to get around](https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Wade_Wilson_\(Earth-2149\))! Trust me when I say that it can get _so_ much worse.”

“I don’t care about _worse_ , Wade; this isn’t some kind of competition! It’s about me and my life in this universe!” Spidey untangled himself from Wade and stood up. He began pacing back and forth in between the ledge and the vents, agitation obvious. “Why can’t I just be happy!? Why don’t things ever work out for me!? I’m not trying to initiate a pity party, but I’m really sick of bad things always happening _all_ the time! It’s like… like they’re predestined or something!”

“Oh, hm… about that,” Wade murmured, standing up himself and mock-dusting off his knees. “Look, Webs,” he started.

“Just call me Peter; you already know my stupid name anyway.”

“Look, Peter,” Wade corrected, “I’ve done a lot of universe hopping in my day. While I can’t deny we do have some control over our life choices and their outcomes, there are some things that just can’t be changed.”

“Like a [temporal nexus](https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/Fixed_point_in_time)?”

Wade jumped up and clapped. “Thank you, Doctor Who! Yes, that! The fixed-point-in-time thingy that you can’t change no matter what you do!”

Peter stopped pacing. “What about it?”

“What I’m saying is, I know firsthand about dealing with things you can’t change. I had a girl once too, Webs. She was beautiful and lovely and so _so_ perfect for me, but we never got to be together no matter how many times I tried to make it work. Why do you think I’m so experienced at dimension hopping? Sure as heck wasn’t for fun!”

“You did that?” Peter walked over to him and placed two strong hands on Wade’s leathered upper arms. “You went searching for her in different universes just so you two could be together?”

“[Ever heard of the definition of insanity](https://quoteinvestigator.com/2017/03/23/same/)?”

Peter lowered his hands and shook his head.

“Well, it’s doing the same thing again and again and expecting different results each time.” Wade shamefully dug the toe of his combat boot into the rough concrete of the roof. “Vanessa died here, and I was too stubborn to let it go. I thought I could time travel and save her, but that didn’t work… so then I thought, maybe I could go to an alternate universe and just live there and be happy, but that doesn’t work either as you’ve found. You start falling apart after a while, and it just ends up one big mess in the end, for you and for everyone else. Even if you’re technically immortal like me, you’re not meant to be there forever. Bad things start to happen if you linger too long,” he finished solemnly, like he was speaking from past experience.

“And in the universes I went to where she didn’t die, I did instead,” Wade prattled on, still not looking up at Peter. “We’re just… not meant to be together like that. Fixed points exist in time and in different universes, too, where important life events need to happen a certain way. I can’t change the fact that she needs to die for me to become who I am. It happened the same way in all the universes I went to where I became Deadpool before I finally learned to accept that I can’t change what time or AUs won’t let me. Even Daleks don’t mess with fixed points, Pete… you could potentially cause the collapse of an entire universe!”

Wade left out the fact that he knew that one from personal experience because it had happened again… and again… and again. The weight of all those untimely and unexpected deaths would haunt him till the end of his days, which looked a lot like forever if his current state of existence was anything to go by. Peter was quiet for a long time after that, and when Wade finally got the courage to meet his gaze, he watched Spidey slip his mask off once more to reveal a healed broken nose in between two sad and rheumy brown eyes. There was a hint of five o’clock shadow lining Peter’s chin, but all Wade could fixate on was the frown directed at him.

“Did it really help?” Peter asked all of a sudden. Wade startled at the question and took a step back.

“What did what now?”

“Did it help,” Peter clarified, “going to those other universes to get over…” He paused for a second. “Vanessa,” he finally said, her name spoken almost reverently. “Did you get the closure you needed to move on with your life?”

Wade began to fidget under Peter’s scrutiny and fingered a pouch in front of one of his guns. “I guess? I mean… I was _really_ messed up at the time, Spidey. It took years to come to terms with her death and my freakish mutation and all the other fucked up shit that came along with it. I don’t think—”

That was when Peter lunged at him, vice-like grip back on his biceps and fingernails digging into the leather of his suit. “Then that settles it,” Peter said matter-of-factly. “Take me to the multiverse. Show me that what happened to me is a fixed point, and I’ll let it go.”

“Ahh, hmm, Pete, it doesn’t work like tha—”

“You said you wanted to be there for me, to help me cope with this divorce! Well, this is the thing I need to get over it. It worked for you, didn’t it? Didn’t it!?” Peter demanded, body shaking from the restraint he was clearly using not to hurt his friend.

Sighing heavily, Wade shrugged out of Peter’s hold and brought a hand up to rub at his face. There were so many things he wanted to say, like, _What if it’s not a fixed point? What if you really are the one to blame for your own divorce in this dimension? How will you handle that if it’s the hard truth and all the other you’s get to live happily ever after?_

Wade cursed himself for even opening his mouth about his own experiences in the first place. Why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone? Now Wade was in a precarious situation where he could neither deny Peter’s accusations, nor could he say no to Peter’s request because the man had finally, directly, asked for help like Wade had made him promise he would. They’d pinky sworn on it, too, and what kind of example would he be setting if he told Peter not to do something but then admitted he’d gone and done the exact opposite of that something himself? _A hypocritical one, that’s what_ , he told himself angrily.

“If it’ll really make you happy,” he finally conceded after a time.

“Yes,” Peter whispered, resolve heavy in his words, “it will.”


	3. Peter B. Parker in the Multiverse

* * *

  
When Wade promised he’d take Peter universe hopping, he didn’t think it would end up being so complicated.

_Fuck us,_ he cursed himself. _How could we forget we gave all our universal travely gear to Cable because we didn’t want anymore reminders from_ that _dark time!? We said no more multiverse, and we meant it, so why in the hell would we go and renege now!?_ He slumped further down into his lumpy, threadbare sofa and flicked another shuriken at the wall. This was getting him nowhere even if he’d made a pretty sweet spiral pattern while sulking.

“Cable is definitely not gonna lend us an interdimensional travely device now… not after he had to go back and clean up all of our shitty messes. _Never again, Wade_ usually means NEVER. AGAIN. But who else has weird, magicky gadgets that coul—'' Then it hit him. Wade kicked out his long legs and sat up straight.

“Stephen motherfuckin’ Strange,” he whispered aloud reverently. “What are the odds all these OP supers just happen to live in the same damn city in this universe? They’re practically inviting trouble to New York by congregating here.” Wade pitched the last throwing star in his hand behind the couch and smirked when it dug into the wall with a satisfying thunk. A plan was slowly forming in his spongy brain. Now, all he needed was his utility belt and his cell phone. Bless the advancement of technology that allowed him to stan those same supers living in New York City.

Once he was decked out in full gear, Wade thumbed open his map app and looked up one Doctor Stephen Vincent Strange. _Should probably call him and tell him to expect us, but likely he already knows we’re on our way._ Would it be considered rude to assume that Strange knew he was coming and still call or ruder yet for Wade to show up unannounced because he knew that Strange _knew_ he was coming? Wade tapped an impatient foot and closed out of the app’s window. That was an awful lot of thought he wasn't in the mood to process right now.

“Only one way to find out,” Wade giggled and rushed to his door, slamming it shut behind himself.  
  


* * *

  
“Deadpool,” Strange sneered, his hands in one of those weird poses with glowing green symbols swirling around the wrist. He currently had Wade suspended with an arm in one of his glass menageries, gloved fingertips just millimeters above an elaborately decorative two finger ring.

“H-hey Mr. Strange,” Wade managed through the weight of the force holding him in place even though it felt like two elephants crushing him.

“[Doctor Strange. I didn’t spend years enrolled in medical school to be called ‘mister,’ thank you very much.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C41o5a6NeNE)”

“Was it  [_evil_ medical school](https://youtu.be/7Dr1d9gJb5E?t=60)?”

Strange shook his head, and the pressure of the weight increased, if that was even possible.

“So, not evil then,” Wade whined, wincing when a bone creaked in his forearm. “Guess you already know why I’m here, right?”

“Indeed, I do,” Strange intoned, still not releasing Wade. “What I want to know is why you would come here regardless, knowing I’m aware of that. Why would you even think I might lend something as precious as a sling ring to you?”

“‘Cuz it’s not for me?”

Strange hummed and finally released Wade from his telekinetic hold. “Whew,” Wade blew out and reached up to rub at his wrist. “Nearly broke a bone or two there.”

“It would have healed,” Strange told him callously.

“Course it woulda,” Wade chuckled, “but it still hurts like a bitch!”

The good doctor nodded and walked over to one of his plush accent chairs. Everything about this room appeared for show, so Wade made sure to bite his tongue to keep from mouthing off unnecessarily. Spidey, Peter, was counting on him after all.

“Look, Doctor,” Wade tacked on the formal title just to butter the other man up. “I’m here because I promised I’d help someone important to me with a, uh, thing… a  _really_ personal thing.”

Seemingly knowing that Wade would not elaborate further due to the culpability of ousting his friend’s super secret divorce, Strange did the creepy scry thing where he closed his eyes and envisioned all of the possible futures that branched out from this one moment in time. His brow furrowed for a brief second, but he said nothing else as he viewed countless possibilities unfolding beneath his eyelids.

“So now that you’ve spied on the future and seen how it ends, can I go out and play, Mom?”

Two gray eyes opened and glared at him. “While I do think it noble of you to offer aid to someone in need,  _for once_ , I have to be frank and tell you it’s not my problem if you can’t deliver on a promise you’ve made in earnest.”

“But it’s for friggin’ Spider-Man! I know you saw that! C’mon, from one alliterative super to another, just lemme borrow the damned thing! It’s not like you need it right now anyway since you’ve got that  [Eye of Amaretto](https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Eye_of_Agamotto) and [Wand of Wu Tang](https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Wand_of_Watoomb) to let you mystic all over the place. You’re just being stingy!” Wade stomped his foot and groaned. Of course Strange was gonna be a dick about this even though Wade was asking nicely. No good deed went unpunished; he really should have learned that lesson ages ago! “Look, if it’s about money—”

“It’s not about money,” Strange stood up, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s about responsibility. In nearly half of those outcomes I just witnessed, you muck up an entire alternate reality that I would have to go back and fix. Would you even trust yourself, Deadpool? Be honest.”

“I—” Wade hunched in on himself, shame bleeding into his chest. “You’re not wrong… I’ve messed up a lot. Like, A LOT a lot. That’s part of why I gave all my gear to Cable to destroy in the first place; it’s why I’m here right now asking you to do me a solid!” Strange continued to maintain wary eye contact with him as Wade went on. “I know you don’t owe me anything, but it’d still be  _super_ cool if you were a _super_ friend and said you had faith in me to do the right thing for once. I know better this time… a lot better! And I’m trying to _do_ better now that it actually matters.”

Those words sounded eerily familiar, but Wade didn’t allow himself to linger on them for long.

“Whatever boundaries or rules you gotta establish with me to guaran-damn-tee I’ll do the right thing, I’ll agree to ‘em, no questions asked. Absolute scout’s honor!” Wade thrust up a three-finger salute with his thumb on top of his pinky.

It was quiet, for a time, and then Strange did something _strange_ , something Wade never would’ve expected of the man; he laughed. A sound like the snuffle of a pig escaped him, and he slowly lowered himself back down into his chair. 

“So, this _is_ that future,” Strange muttered under his breath before readjusting himself in the obviously uncomfortable seating. Wade wasn’t sure if what he’d said was a good sign or a bad one.

“You may borrow the sling ring, Deadpool.” A high pitched squeal of triumph snuck out of Wade before Strange threw a hand up to silence him. “But it does come with conditions.”

Wade’s masked head bobbled on his shoulders. “Yeah, sure, anything you say!”

“First, you will not be using that ring. A sling ring takes years for an apprentice to master and will only work for someone with pure intentions who knows the reason for which they are using it. Only Spider-Man may wield it, am I clear?”

“Crystal.” Wade flashed him an okay sign.

“Second,” Strange went on, “you will travel together and NOT directly confront your alternate selves as you are in this universe. I know you have image inducing tech…”

“Yeah,” Wade reached up to rub at the back of his neck nervously, “dunno where those ar—”

“Two working belts are in your Brooklyn safehouse under the fifth floorboard of your guest room,” Strange supplied.

“Augh, just, can I tell you how cool it is when you do that?” The dead fish eye look Strange gave him got Wade back into serious mode. “Right, so, anything else?”

“Third, you are only allowed to be spectators no matter which universes you visit. If one or both of you should attempt to interfere with a single dimension’s predestined timeline, it will set off a course of events that makes the already innumerous outcomes I’ve just witnessed even more infinitely complicated, and I refuse to be responsible for any of the consequences that either of you incur whilst traveling. Keep all of your heroic thoughts and do-gooding deeds to yourselves.”

“Noted,” Wade nodded.

“And lastly, you will agree to return to our prime universe and not overstay your welcome. You and he are both aware what happens to uninvited interdimensional travelers after forty-eight hours. Do not make your ‘problems’ my problem.”

“We are merely multidimensional traveling flies on the wall, sir!”

“Good.” Strange sat back and steepled his hands beneath his nose. “I do believe that if you can both keep to all of those rules, then none of the negative outcomes I’ve witnessed will transpire.”

“Right-o!” Wade saluted. Strange flicked his wrist, and the ring Wade had been coveting floated over to him. He received it delicately in an upturned palm. The unimaginable was quickly becoming imaginable. “You’re awesome, Strange! Thanks!”

“Doctor. It’s Doctor Strange,” he overheard the master of mystic arts grit out, but Wade was too busy running out of his study and toward the front door to care.  
  


* * *

  
Surprisingly, getting an interdimensional time travely device was much easier than putting it to good use. Strange had been _strangely_ accommodating, and whatever unspoken futures he’d witnessed had put Wade on edge. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice, aka messaging Peter and diving into alternate realities head first prematurely.

While he wanted to help Peter as soon as possible, and he really truly did, he also wasn’t stupid enough to disregard all of his prior reservations about what it was they were going to be seeing in those other dimensions. Good or bad, whatever they witnessed there was absolutely going to leave its mark on Peter.

_Just like it did on us,_ the detached-sounding voice in the back of Wade’s head reminded him.

It wasn’t even the ring’s stipulations that made him wary. Strange’s rules would be easy enough to follow, and the less Wade had to micromanage about their blips through space-time, the better off he’d be mentally. What he really worried about, though, was Peter. Spidey was too good of a person to deserve being messed with like that, and it already seemed like their own dimension had already beat the ever living shit out of him. Was he some kind of masochist? Wasn’t enough _enough_?

Wade hung his head and sighed. He had no right to think like that. Who was he to determine when enough was actually enough for someone else? For someone like Peter? The thought made him feel guilty and sullen about what it was he’d agreed to do, essentially offering to help hurt the last person he’d ever dared to care about.

That night, Wade brought the sling ring home and stuffed it deep in his wacky sock drawer, trying anything he could to allow the weight of it and his own unease to settle over the course of a week. He refrained from reaching out to Peter for fear of letting signs of his own apprehension slip up. He had to be the mentally stronger one in this situation, but he’d never felt as weak as he did now.

Days passed, and when he finally got up the nerve to text Spidey about the ring, he wasn’t wholly prepared for the response he got in return. It was just one word, as though what they were about to do was really that simple.

**_When?_**

That’s all Peter had texted him. They hadn’t met up since the night Wade initially made his promise, so he wasn’t really expecting Peter to be so eager to kickstart his own psyche’s demise this soon. With some trepidation, Wade found himself texting back.

**u call da shots**

Not even a minute passed before his phone was buzzing in his hand.

**_Tomorrow night. Our building._**

Wade sighed and texted back an obligatory  _k_ before turning around to look at the drawer in which he’d hidden the ring away. Seven days wasn’t nearly enough time for his swiss-cheese brain to forget about what it was capable of. Not feeling nearly as ready as he’d hoped the short reprieve would have made him, Wade swallowed his doubts and went to retrieve it.

A promise was a promise.  
  


* * *

  
Peter found himself restless the day of their planned trip. It felt absurd to be so anxious about it; he was the one who had set the date after all. Still, he found himself uncontrollably running his hand through his hair, nibbling on all of the pens and pencils he used to grade lab notebooks, and even going so far as to pick at his nails until one of them bled. All of these were nervous habits he’d developed with age, and they showed no signs of stopping as the day progressed. Peter was just proud he’d managed to successfully make it through a Saturday afternoon at the community college study lab without losing his mind.

Speaking of his mind, part of him had been thinking more seriously about what Wade had said that night on the rooftop when he made that promise to support Peter. The more rational side of Peter was aware that whatever they encountered tonight could be just as horribly damning as it was helpful to him in his current mental state. Hadn’t Wade said he was messed up for a long time after all of his trips to the multiverse? Would it be unreasonable to assume that might not happen to Peter, too?

_But I’m not going to make the same mistakes he did,_ Peter reassured himself, stuffing the last of his belongings into his messenger bag. _That’s why I asked Pool to come with me. He’s not going to let anything bad happen. He knows the ins and outs of everything, the rules to abide by to make sure no one gets hurt._

Peter flicked the lights off in the chemistry lab and turned his key in the door to lock up before making his way to the subway. _He’ll make sure we’re safe, that I’m safe. I trust him,_ Peter repeated to himself as he took an empty seat on the train. It was a longer ride than usual, or so it felt, back to his studio apartment, and Peter realized he should have specified an earlier time since they typically only met after 9 p.m.

That gave him, he looked down at his watch and did some mental math, four and half more hours to fill before he could even think about heading out. Sighing, Peter resigned himself to pacing anxiously around his apartment like a caged animal and willed himself to fixate on something else, anything else, until then.  
  


* * *

  
It was now 8:30 p.m., and Peter was well and truly ready to lose his mind from impatience. He’d stayed away for as long as he could, had nearly formed a groove through the floorboards of his bedroom and into his downstairs neighbors from all the pacing before giving up and heading out to their meeting place early. If Wade took much longer, Peter would be well on his way to making another new divet in their rooftop as well.

Tonight he’d shown up in his civilian clothes. Instead of being Spider-Man, he was just plain old Peter B. Parker. Wade had been very adamant about them not wearing their usual get-ups so as to appear as by-standardly as possible.

“Yo!” He heard called out from the direction of the fire escape.

_THANK GOD._

Peter whipped his head around and caught sight of Wade, who was in his full Deadpool get-up, exiting the fire escape with a pair of matching silver belts in one hand. Why was he all costumed up? That wasn’t fair! And were the belts the interdimensional device he’d mentioned? In the end, Peter’s curiosity won out over his annoyance.

“I thought you said no suits,” Peter called out, cutting his pacing short and moving to take one of the strange belts out of Wade’s hand to examine it.

Upon closer inspection, it didn’t appear to be anything more than an average belt with an unusual clip. Peter undid it and watched as the metallic-looking material shimmered vibrantly in the light of the surrounding street lamps. “Whoa,” he found himself marveling at the effect, but Wade snatched it back out of his hand before he could experiment further.

“Didn’t yer mama ever teach ya to look with your eyes and not with your hands?”

“Can’t say that she did considering that both my parents died when I was little.”

“OOF! LANDMINE.  [Danger. DANGER, WILL ROBINSON!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1IPPn9t6dyE)” Wade recoiled from Peter and tried to redirect the conversation toward lighter topics. “To answer your first question, yes, I _did_ say no suits, didn’t I?”

Peter nodded.

“Huh. Well, anyway, to answer your second inquiry, yes, whoa. This is an image inducer, not the interdimensional travel thingy you might think it is, so don’t play with it.”

“Image inducer?” Peter crossed his arms suspiciously over his chest. Was that why Wade had felt compelled to show up in his full suit?

“Mm-hm,” Wade nodded and clipped the belt back together. “Now, before you get all mad with me about the whole _do as I say, not as I do_ thing, hear me out. You’re, like, _stunning_. You’re this finely aging wine that keeps on getting better over time. Granted, I don’t know what you looked like before last week, but I think I can guess you were sort of a hottie. Myself on the other hand? I’m more like a rotting carcass. I only get stinkier and grosser looking as time goes on, so hence, full suit.” He made sure to gesture at himself from head to toe.

“And unlike you, I’m used to wearing one of these suckers to get around for long periods of time. Even if I’m suited and you’re not, I don’t have any intention of taking mine off the entire time we’re out and about and neither should you. So, really, it won’t matter what we’re wearing underneath once we clip these bad boys on.”

“But why would we need—” Peter started to ask before Wade cut him off.

“Look, bud, I made a promise to you and someone else, and I intend to keep both of ‘em.”

“Wait,” Peter dropped his arms and stepped closer to Deadpool. “Where did you get the interdimensional travel device from? I thought you said you had stuff? You didn’t... steal it, did you?”

“What?” Wade sounded put upon and slung both of the image inducers over his leathered shoulder. “I’m offended you would even think that. Course I didn’t steal it! You can’t exactly sneak up on Doctor Strange without him knowin’ about it.”

“You got these from Dr. Strange? The Doctor Stephen Strange?” Peter’s eyes widened comically.

“The image inducers? Phfft, please, these are from the [90s when I was running amuck with the X-Men](https://io9.gizmodo.com/a-guide-to-deadpool-2s-x-force-and-their-comic-origins-1826087411). I own these babies, got ‘em off the black market fair and square. Paid a pretty penny for ‘em, too, actually.” Peter didn’t say anything to that, and his apparent lack of awe must have reminded Wade there was something else more important he should be addressing instead because he switched topics without having to be prompted. “But yes, I did get the ring from the good doctor, and it came with some pretty hefty user agreements that I said I’d make us both abide by.”

It was then that Peter saw Wade reach around to one of his side pockets and pull out an intricate gold two-finger ring. He held it out for Peter to take. It looked like it would be heavy, made out of a metal denser than bronze, but it was actually quite light now that it was in Peter’s possession, and that wasn’t just because of his inhuman strength. He brought it up to his face for closer inspection. There were detailed carvings in runes and figures that Peter had never seen before, and the longer he held it, the more it seemed to vibrate in his hand, almost like it was alive.

He lowered the ring and looked at Wade with concern. “Why are you giving this to me? I thought you were the one who—”

“Part of the deal, sweet cheeks,” Wade interrupted. “Strange said we gotta follow three rules.” He continued his explanation as he began the process of resizing and clipping one of the image inducers over his own broad chest like a crossbody seatbelt. “First rule is that I don’t get to hold the [One Ring of Power](https://lotr.fandom.com/wiki/One_Ring). That honor goes to you, Frodo, who is pure of heart and clear of indecision, yadda, yadda.” 

The moment the belt clips locked into place, Wade’s hand was on the buckle tapping rhythmically until that shimmer started up again and slowly engulfed his whole frame. When the image finally settled, he was a handsome looking man in dark jeans and a red sweatshirt with the hoodie drawn up over the top of a black baseball cap. His eyes were a stunning shade of blue, and while he didn’t appear out of the ordinary, there was something deeply unsettling about how his new face looked so familiar yet felt so foreign all at once.

Peter had never seen an inch of Wade’s skin without scars before. It was disconcerting to stand next to a Wade that didn’t look like the Wade Peter knew.

He turned his head away briskly when he realized he’d been staring for too long.  _Don’t be rude, Peter,_ he chastised himself.

“Second rule,” Wade prattled on, seemingly unaware of the attention Peter was paying him. “We gotta travel together at all times and in-cog-neat-o so that nobody recognizes us, which is why I came here with these  [wicked ahsome](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q9ALJA1Uu2k) belts. Think of this as a super secret spy mission, and this belt is your super secret spy gear! You get all dolled up in this baby, and you can be whoever you wanna be! Want me to make ya look like Tom Holland?”

“What!? No! I don’t even know who that is! I don’t wanna look like anyone but…” He wanted to say _me_ , but Peter knew that wasn’t a practical option. If any of the other Peters from the dimensions they’d be traveling to got even one look at his face, the jig would be up.

It made sense, he reasoned, that if they traveled all around the multiverse, they’d have to look like somebody another Peter Parker had never seen before. Peter was familiar enough with the basic principles of the [butterfly effect in chaos theory](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Butterfly_effect) . They would have to be as innocuous and unsuspecting as possible if they were only going to observe what was happening in those other universes without directly impacting each dimension’s timeline.

He hadn’t followed those rules the last time he went universe hopping, which explained how he’d gotten roped into that big Spider-Man debacle with Miles and the other Spiders. To avoid that from happening again, he'd have to keep his distance and change his face. Strange must have given Wade these rules preemptively to protect the both of them, and Peter could respect the man's forethought since it was obvious Peter wasn't capable of thinking rationally at all today.

He held out his hand to accept a belt from Wade.

"Fine," he groused, not sure he wanted to know who Wade was planning on turning him into. "I'll be this Tom guy, or whatever."

Deadpool squealed and walked around Peter to secure the other belt across his torso. Peter felt like a child being strapped into a car seat.

"Nah, I'm just messin' with ya Webs," Wade chuckled, slipping his finger under the belt once more to make sure it was tight enough. "There's no way I'd make you look like that kid. He's got too much BTE. You're more of a… hmm. More of a [Jake Johnson](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jake_Johnson) with a full beard kinda guy!"

"BT… E?" Peter found himself sounding out the letters, but then Wade's thumb was tapping on his buckle, and the shimmer washed over him like a wave.

When he looked down again, his hands appeared to be the same, skin still fair and nails still ragged, but his clothing had changed. It was almost comical how his new appearance included an outfit eerily similar to the one he'd managed to scrounge up in Miles’ universe, a dark green coat with grey sweats and beat-up red sneakers, matching this time of course. His shirt was black and stretched comfortably over a flat stomach he didn’t have to suck in to achieve—small miracles he supposed.

"I don't _feel_ any different," he concluded, looking back up to meet Wade's blue gaze.

"[DoN’t fEeL AnY DiFfErEnT](https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/mocking-spongebob), hah!" Wade hunched over and slapped his knee. "Course ya don't! It just changes the way you look on the outside, not who you are on the inside, silly. Oh shit, is this some kinda metaphor for beauty only being skin deep? Dammit, I gotta stop noticin’ morals as they appear in fiction! Anyway, handsome, you're still you, just rockin’ a big bushy beard with some sweet sideburns. Here, lemme getcha a mirror."

It was weird to see Wade digging around in the thin air above his hip before pulling out a petite pink compact. The image inducers did a really great job of hiding everything on your corporeal body as long as you didn't fiddle with clothing or objects _not actually_ there to an outside viewer.

Instead of asking why Wade happened to have a compact mirror on him, Peter had learned not to question the hammerspace conundrum of Wade’s pouches many years ago, he flipped open the little handheld and stared at a face he’d never seen before. He was still a brunette, eyes also brown, but the length of his face had shortened and become rounder. The beard Wade had gushed about really did change the overall look of his still broken nose in the middle of his face.

“Huh,” he snapped the compact shut and handed it back to Wade. “Were those all the rules or…?”

“I wish!” Wade stuffed the little mirror out of sight and held up three fingers. “So I told you about numbers one and two,” he tapped his index and middle finger against his hand and giggled, “but I didn’t tell you number three. We’re in disguise because we can’t interfere with whatever’s going on in those other universes.”

“So I gathered.” Peter looked back down at the ring in his hand. “I was just thinking about the reasons why you’d make us wear these belts in the first place. Don’t mess with events in the other universe. Got it.”

“I’m serious, Peter.” Wade’s voice took on a tone he very rarely used. He really was serious. “No matter what we see in there, you can’t let it affect you. It’s real, but it’s not _real_ , ya know? It’s happening, but it’s not our reality. Strange said we’re not allowed to play hero when we’re out there, and I really need you to promise me you can keep your morals in check.”

That comment gave Peter pause. Of course he knew what they should and shouldn’t be doing in those other universes, but he wasn’t so sure he could promise to follow the no interference rule if what happened in front of them was something he considered too immoral to ignore.

Would it be right for him to interfere with the natural order of events happening in another universe? No. But conversely, would it be wrong if he saw something bad happening, something that could easily be prevented, and he failed to do anything to stop it anyway? Yes.

Right was always right and wrong was always wrong; that was the code Spider-Man had _always_ abided by.

He looked down at both of his hands again. There were no red gloves covering them, no weight of a mask over his face. If they were going to do this, and keep their word to Strange, he could not be Spider-Man. Hell, he couldn’t even be Peter B. Parker. He had to be someone else and stop being the person he’d become after Uncle Ben’s death.

It felt like an impossible request, too high of a toll to pay for this multiverse trip.

Peter clenched his hands into fists and brought them back down to his sides with a sigh. He didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t have much of a choice if they were ever going to get off this roof in this lifetime.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, hoping he sounded convincing enough. “I promise.”

He even accepted the pinky Wade held out for him, and they shook on it. The guilt he felt coursing through his chest was almost too overwhelming.

“Last rule before we jet, though I think this one is pretty obvious from your last visit to the multiverse, no overstaying welcomes. We go in, we find that alternate you, see what we gotta see, and then we get outta there. No more than forty-eight hours per universe. Dems da breaks. You okay will all of that?”

“Wasn’t really planning on missing my Monday classes,” Peter retorted, shuffling his foot on the rooftop of the building.

“Hey,” Wade brought a hand up to rest on Peter’s shoulder. It felt weird to see such an open expression on his friend’s image-induced face. His eyes were half-lidded, and though he smiled, it was only full of sadness. “We don’t have to go through with this tonight if you’re not ready. Strange didn’t give me a timeline for returning the ring. You don’t gotta feel pressured or anythi—”

“I think he didn’t tell you when to bring it back because he knew what we’re about to do better than even we do ourselves. I don’t think I can go on living like this, not knowing, feeling angry, for that much longer. Wade. Even if it hurts, I _need_ to do this.”

“Yeah,” Wade sighed. “I get that.”

“I know you do,” Peter placed his hand on top of Wade’s, and they took a moment to just be in their own space and time.

“Well,” Wade removed his hand and readjusted his sweatshirt, “whenever you’re ready, put that ring on your fingers and draw a portal with your other hand. Keep focused on where you wanna be, and that’s how we’ll get there.”

“How do you know it’s going to work?” Peter slipped the ring over his knuckles and down to the base of his left hand. It was a comfortable fit, almost like the ring had been sized specifically for him. He wasn’t expecting that, but then he remembered that all of Doctor Strange’s mystical artifacts were magically imbued. This was likely no coincidence.

“I don’t actually, but I also don’t think Strange would stiff us with a faulty piece of mystic. He wanted you to have it because he believed you could make it work,” Wade reasoned.

Peter nodded, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. If he was honest, he’d given a lot of subconscious thought to what he needed to see in those other universes to know exactly where they were going to go first.

He brought his right hand up and gingerly began to trace a circle in front of him as Wade repositioned himself behind Peter. It felt silly, drawing in mid-air with nothing to show for it, and Peter would have given up if not for a sudden burst of golden sparks that began to fizz and pop at the outline of his tracings. The swirls of light grew faster and spun until they appeared to cut a hole in his reality and allowed him to see into another world beyond.

“[Whoa](https://media.giphy.com/media/KJHINXxzWX7A4/giphy.gif),” they both exhaled at the same time.

Peter stepped through first. Wade followed behind him.

They were still on their roof; the place Peter had imagined was still New York, but it was a different time of day. In their reality, the sun had set hours ago, yet here, the skyline was bathed in the lush reds and oranges of a sunset. The portal sparked behind them as it faded out of existence, and Peter took a step towards the edge of the roof.

“Where are we?” Wade asked, trailing along behind Peter like a lost puppy.

“New York,” Peter answered tersely, eyes darting around for some sort of marker that this was the reality he’d hoped for, the one that he needed to see through the eyes of another Peter Parker. How much time did they have left? He pulled out his phone and frowned when the clock ticked only a few minutes after nine. It was an object from his universe, thus it was not governed by this one’s relativity. It wasn’t going to be helpful anymore, but he still needed to know if they could make it.

“Well, uh-doy, I know it’s New York,” he heard Pool scoff behind him. “But, like, why are we back on our roo—”

“The bridge,” Peter cut him off. “We’re going to the bridge.”  
  


* * *

  
It was difficult, making it to the [Queensboro Bridge](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Queensboro_Bridge) without using their powers. Luckily, the universe Peter had chosen still used dollar bills for currency, so it was easy to snag two metro tickets and catch a train ride to their destination. They didn’t talk for the duration of the ride, and that was a little weird if Peter was being honest. He’d expected Wade to assault him with a barrage of questions, ask him why he’d chosen this specific universe, what was it they were headed to see, anything really to break the silence. But despite being such a renowned conversationalist, Wade had remained deathly silent. It was like he already sensed the foreboding tension their trip to the bridge was going to bring before Peter told him, and he wanted to respect Peter’s feelings by not addressing anything openly. The gesture was kind, albeit out of character for someone as chatty as Wade’s alter ego, Deadpool.

Now Peter felt even guiltier that he had lied to Wade earlier about not interfering in multiverse affairs. Telling only half-truths wasn’t how you were supposed to repay someone else’s kindness and doing so made you an inarguable ingrate.

When they finally stepped out of the subway station about an hour later, the light of day was fading into night. 

“Any minute now,” Peter murmured, tugging Wade up to the edge of the bridge’s pedestrian walkway. Even now, he still said nothing and allowed himself to be pulled along without complaint.

Peter might have commented on it if he wasn’t so fixated on what he knew was about to happen next.

They didn’t have to wait long. The harsh screech of a missile cut through the quiet, and a white tram service garage erupted in a fiery explosion only seconds later.

“There!” Peter grabbed Wade’s arm again and dragged him up onto the walkway proper where people were running and screaming, terrified and confused about what was happening all around them. Everyone except for Peter. He remembered what had transpired here all those years ago, and he needed to see how it ended, how _he_ responded to it in this universe, here and now.

This was the moment where he had made the first of many tough decisions involving his turbulent life with Mary Jane. Did every Peter Parker always make the same choice? Was the end result always the same as his own? He pushed back against the tide of scared New Yorkers who were fleeing to escape the bridge. Car accidents resounded to the side of him; those still driving on the bridge at the time of the explosion had nowhere else to go but into their fellow drivers’ lanes. His spider senses should have been overwhelmed by the cacophony of sounds erupting all around, but Peter was watching for something else.

There!

A single trail of thick smoke zipped in the direction of a falling tramcar. With its support tower damaged, only one thing could stop its descent. Peter saw the cable pull taunt as someone grabbed the frayed end and stabilized it in mid-air.

“Goblin,” Peter grit his teeth and continued to press on to reach the middle of the bridge. Norman and MJ would be there, waiting for him.

“Spider-Man!” Peter could barely make out the words as the Green Goblin, actually Norman Osborn, greeted Peter’s alter-ego. He was at the peak of the bridge just above Peter and Wade, dangling the tram and a younger version of his ex-wife precariously in front of his alternate self.

“This is why only fools are heroes,” Norman sneered with a shout, shaking MJ in his grip for emphasis, “because you never know when some lunatic will come along with a sadistic choice!” 

Mary Jane screamed as one of her shoes fell off.

“Holy shit! Fucking hell! What kinda sick fuc—” Wade looked up and tensed next to Peter as a fluffy white slipper floated down outside the railing of the bridge. “Is that Green Goblin? That guy’s nuts! I thought he was dead!”

“He is,” Peter said more calmly than he felt. “In our universe, he died this night.”

“Heavy,” Wade replied, turning to look back up at this universe’s Spider-Man confronting said lunatic on the bridge.

“Let die the woman you love,” Goblin crooned, raising MJ above his head. Her blood-curdling scream punched Peter right in the chest. It hurt him now as badly as it had hurt then. She’d meant everything to him in this moment, he recalled with sudden clarity. “Or suffer the little children.”

The choices that Goblin had forced Peter to make this night had been difficult, in more ways than one. Norman had actually believed Peter couldn’t save everyone, and he’d nearly fallen for it. When Goblin let go of the tram full of riders and MJ at the same time, challenging Spider-Man to make a choice, Peter’s stomach sank and his heart flew up into his throat. It was like he was the one up there, reliving this all over again. He watched Spider-Man hesitate, only for a second, before he turned left, instead of right, and dove for the tram.

“No,” Peter heard himself say. That wasn’t right. He was supposed to turn right, he was supposed to save MJ first! If he didn’t reach her before she got out of arm’s reach, the fall would— “No!” he shouted, rushing to the railing of the bridge. A heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder.

“Don’t,” Wade warned, his yell barely audible over all the blood pounding inside Peter’s skull.

Spider-Man jumped off the bridge and grabbed hold of the frayed cable connected to the tram. He then shot a web at a support beam on the side of the bridge and used the added weight of the tram as a pendulum to swing underneath the bridge’s support struts. All the while, MJ continued to fall at an alarming speed. Her scream rang in Peter’s ears, and he knew exactly how this was going to end even before Spider-Man shot the fatal web.

“NO!” he shouted, scrambling to kick his foot over the side of the railing. What good it would have done, he didn’t know. The fact that he’d chosen not to wear his web shooters for this multiverse trip seemed to have escaped him; he wasn’t thinking straight, and he was as useless as he’d ever been when he wasn’t Spider-Man.

All of his super strength and superior intellect couldn’t save MJ in this here and now, but he still needed to try. Except, there was something holding him back. Someone was keeping him tethered to the bridge.

“LET ME GO! I HAVE TO SAVE HER, I HAVE TO—”

“No! You can’t! You promised!”

“I have to—” 

All the sounds around him tuned out into nothingness, and time stood still the moment MJ’s green eyes locked with his own. She looked as terrified as Peter felt, and he was powerless to do anything but watch her slip farther away and out of his reach.

Slowly, time restarted, and Peter redoubled his efforts to fight against the pull of whatever was keeping him trapped on the bridge. Sound returned in the form of a single deafening, sickening crack, and finally, MJ stopped screaming.

“Don’t look,” Wade warned him. Peter didn’t listen and turned around to catch Wade’s bystander image shuddering, clearly unstable. A puddle of red was growing steadily under his feet, the source of it undetectable to Peter in his panic. His super senses could smell the hint of blood in the air, but he didn’t really stop to wonder why it was there. People crashed into them on all sides at the railing of the bridge when another, louder scream rose up from below.

Peter _didn’t_ listen.

He looked.

And then he vomited, right there on the bridge, all over the railing, all over his shoes.

In this universe, Goblin had been right. Peter had failed to save everyone, and the people in the tramcar were screaming along with Spider-Man at the horror of what he’d done. The severe degree at which MJ’s neck bent was not something compatible with life. Her spine had snapped from the sudden stop of her fall, killing her instantly. It was horrific the way her limp body dangled so close to the tram windows as Spider-Man fought to hang onto the car and its passengers less he lose them tonight, too.

She was dead.

MJ was dead, and Peter had killed her.

“Shit,” Wade cursed, roughly grabbing the back of Peter’s jacket and hauling him away. He used his own strength to barrel through the crowd, shoving people without a care until they got off the bridge. Peter didn’t know where he was being led. Everything was like an out of body experience, and he felt himself retch a few more times before the tears finally came.

“You should have let me,” he babbled, voice thick with sorrow. “I could’ve… she—”

“No!” Wade lunged forward and caught Peter’s face in his hands. His left arm shook oddly, uncoordinated, and the scent of blood grew stronger now that he was closer. It made the leftover bile rumble unpleasantly in Peter’s already upset stomach. “You could’ve died! What were you gonna do, huh!? Throw yourself off the bridge, too!? You promised you wouldn’t interfere!”

“Wade, I—”

“NO,” he reiterated again, fingers digging into the flesh of Peter’s tear-streaked face hard enough to bruise. “You promised!” Their foreheads crashed together, and Peter felt the warmth of Wade’s breath waft over his face. “I never should have brought you that fuckin’ ring. I never should have… FUCK! There’s a lotta shit I never shoulda done or said, and I’m so sorry, Pete, I really am, but you, _this you_ ,” he shook Peter’s face for emphasis to show he meant Peter himself. “You aren’t him. You couldn't have done anything differently for either of them, and you need to accept that!”

“Wade, I… I can’t, I—” Peter sobbed loudly, uncontrollably. It was a harsh sound in contrast to the quiet hush that came from Wade, who had repositioned them against a building nearby so that Peter was tucked up against his chest. The crying shoulder he’d alluded to months before was now, finally, being put to good use.

“Hey,” Wade whispered, beginning to rub his hand in soothing circles over Peter’s back. “It’s okay. Let it out. I’m not gonna judge you. I fuckin’ squeak tears when I stub a toe; at least this is a legitmate reason to actually cry about somethin’.”

“That’s a lie,” Peter hiccuped, burying his face deeper into the crook of Wade’s neck. “I’ve seen you get shot in the chest and barely react to it.” Wade’s hood had fallen down, and Peter could see blonde hair sticking out from under the edges of Wade’s baseball cap. Was this what he had looked like before the scarring? It was a distracting thought, and one that Peter was thankful for.

“Oh, that,” Wade chuckled good-naturedly, going along easily with their shift in topic if it would help keep Peter from spiraling further. “[Tis but a scratch](https://youtu.be/ZmInkxbvlCs?t=91).”

“The black knight always triumphs,” Peter replied, still upset about what he’d witnessed but better able to handle it now. Wade had warned him about all of this, hadn’t he? It was never supposed to be easy, and Peter was the one who was calling the shots. If he wanted to blame anyone for his current miserable state, it would have to be himself. Peter could’ve chosen a million other universes with a million other moments in time where he had spoken to MJ, where they’d kissed, or fought, or anything else, but he had chosen this specific one. Now, both he and the other Peter Parker of this universe would have to live with their choices forever.

Eventually, the tears came to a stop.

Peter reached up to swipe at his face. He felt and smelled gross, but something more concerning needed to be addressed first, something he’d been growing steadily concerned about the more he regained control over himself. 

“Wade,” he asked, pulling away from his friend and wiping at snot that was dribbling out of his nose. “Why do you smell like blood?”

“Huh?” Wade chose that moment to step away from Peter and reach up to cover his left shoulder, opposite of the one Peter had broken down on. “Oh, this? Uh, no reason, just lemme get muh wet wipes and my pocket tishies, and we’ll be good to go.”

“Wade,” Peter steeled his voice and reached forward to grab ahold of Wade’s wrist. Though the material of his sweatshirt didn’t look it, Peter’s hand felt a disturbing amount of wetness.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Wade cautioned but did nothing to stop Peter, instead watching with morbid fascination as Peter brought his other hand up to touch the top of Wade’s shoulder. When Peter brought his hand back, his fingertips were stained with red. There was blood on Wade’s real body. Why had Wade even been bleeding in the first place?

“Why’re you—” Peter stopped talking and thought back to the moment he’d heard that horrible noise on the bridge. That hadn’t been MJ who he’d hurt, that had been Wade. Suddenly, the sight of Wade’s image inducer failing, him flickering between the man before Peter now and who he actually was in the Deadpool suit underneath, made sense.

“I… I hurt you,” he concluded, sounding numb and far off. “You tried to stop me, and I hurt you.” Peter’s hands picked up an alarming tremor as he slowly lost control of his composure once more.

“Hey, c’mon, take it easy,” Wade crowded closer to Peter again. “It’s just a little shoulder ouchie. You didn’t mean to, Webs. There’s no reason you gotta beat yourself up over this. I ain’t even mad, bro, look.” He brought both of his arms up to flex in a classic bodybuilder pose, his healing factor likely having kicked in long before and repairing the damage Peter had unknowingly done.

“Good as new,” Wade chirped and twisted at the waist just to show off.

Peter felt sick. His throat tightened as he spoke. “I never wanted to hurt anyone,” he mumbled, eyes prickling once more.

“Hey, hey,” Wade cooed, leaning close and pulling Peter in for another hug. The smell of blood was so close to Peter’s face that it made him retch. “Aw fuck,” Wade cursed and released him, digging around in the air next to his hip again. “Wouldn’t ya know it, left my damn travel size Febreze at home. Sorry, honey, you’re gonna have to smell me stinkin’ like one of those [good copper pennies](https://www.thoughtco.com/the-copper-penny-is-worth-more-than-one-cent-809218) till we get back to universe prime. Least I got these though.” He passed a travel-sized packet of half used tissues to Peter.

“Ya got some boogies,” Wade mimed wiping at his own face to show Peter where.

“Why are you like this?” Peter asked, grip tightening on the item given to him.

That caught Wade off guard. “Why am I like what?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Why are you so good to me?” Peter’s face crumpled, and it took another ten minutes for Wade to talk him back down and get them cleaned up respectively.

It went unspoken that they would not be revisiting another universe with this same kind of event. Though any good scientist would have wanted to run additional trials, check and make sure that this one occurrence was just some random outlier, it was too risky and painful, and Peter didn’t think his heart could stand it.

Wade walked them into an empty alleyway farther away from the blaring of police sirens and firetrucks, almost turning them into an afterthought, and Peter held up his hand to trace circles until another portal appeared.

This time, when they stepped through, it was onto the roof of an apartment complex in Queens. The sun was out, shining brighter and cheerier than it had any right to be after what they’d just witnessed.

Peter hissed and scrubbed at his eyes. Everything felt tender, and there was a headache brewing from all the crying he’d done earlier. He was a mess; he needed to see something good. This universe would be different, he told himself. Nothing dangerous was going to happen here; he’d made sure of it by choosing this specific one.

The day he had proposed to MJ had been one of the happiest of his life. The look on her face when he’d pulled out her engagement ring was always something joyful to reminisce about even if their marriage hadn’t survived the test of time. Peter didn’t bother checking for signs that he was in the right place at the right time, just motioned for Wade to follow him down a nearby fire escape as he led the way to his and MJ’s favorite little Italian restaurant.

By sheer luck, they found another empty rooftop across the street to stake out, and Peter was never more thankful for New York’s decision to build its residential and commercial districts directly on top of one another. They managed to make their way up to the roof of the building unnoticed. Peter had offered Wade a spider-back ride as he scaled his way up the side, and now they were hunkered down next to the ledge watching the goings-on of the Italian joint across the street.

It was fortunate that the time of year Peter had chosen to propose was late spring. The weather was warming up, and restaurants had additional seating options available outside. He caught sight of himself, sans spider suit, settling into a table along the side of the restaurant on a little makeshift patio. The waiter asked him for his ID, and then, reluctantly, passed him the wine menu.

Peter suddenly felt thankful that he’d accidentally given Pool his identity prior to going on this interdimensional journey together. It would have made searching for his normal self outside of the Spider-Man suit even more awkward and difficult than it already was, and based on Strange’s rules, he’d never have been allowed to witness moments like this if he was worried about keeping all of his personal life’s secrets hidden from Wade.

Today his alter-ego had allowed Aunt May to spruce him up for the occasion, and she’d combed his hair stupidly with a part that might have once been attractive sometime in the mid-70s. Thinking he was extra stylish, Peter had dressed himself in a button down with a bow tie and a tan suit jacket.

He looked like a complete tool.

“I see your fashion sense has matured some,” Wade mocked off-hand, trying his damndest to suppress a giggle of laughter.

“Don’t. Say. Anything,” Peter threatened, side-eying Wade who was no better in his wannabe thug get-up. “I was twenty-four and a loser. I’m 100 percent certain you were just as gangly and awkward at that age, too.”

“Me?” Wade thumbed at his chest. “Nah bruh, I was knee deep in men and women throwing themselves at me. Sometimes, I think that’s why I was cursed to be this hideous thing for the second half of my life. Burned my candle too brightly at both ends and whatnot.”

“You’re not ugly,” Peter turned and looked him straight in the eye.

“Aw, Pete, how sweet. You don’t gotta humor me, I know what I look like.”

“I mean it,” Peter repeated, his voice unwavering. “You’re not ugly, and you’ve never been ugly. That’s just in your head.”

A faint pink blush worked its way up Wade’s defined cheekbones through the image inducer. However it worked was truly fascinating, and Peter made a mental note that he’d like to examine the belts closer at a later date. “Thanks,” Wade whispered, sounding breathless.

“You’re welcome,” Peter replied, then turned to look back at the him seated across the street. “Now, let’s watch.”

“What is this, if ya don’t mind my askin’?”

Peter shook his head; he didn't. “This is the day I proposed to MJ. Up until we got married, this was the happiest day of my life. I still remember the look on her face, like she couldn’t believe I would ask her when _I_ couldn’t believe she’d say yes. Feels weird looking back on it now.”

“Think ya’d still do it again even knowin’ the end result?”

“Absolutely,” Peter said without hesitation. “I’ll never regret loving her, no matter how much it hurts." He paused to look over at Wade. "Do you regret any of your marriages, knowing what you do now?”

Wade sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. His face screwed up in thought as he hemmed and hawed about an answer. “I wanna say no and be all valiant like you, but sometimes, I’m really a full yes. Not a lotta good things happen to me, Pete. But if I knew I had to go through all of that again just to meet you… then no, I definitely wouldn’t change a thing so long as we got to be besties again.”

“Besties? What’re we, kids?” Peter chuckled as he looked back over at himself, watching the struggle of deciding on a wine for MJ with the waiter. Of course the server had been snooty that day, not thinking his younger self would be able to afford the bill based on his appearance, and had recommended him the cheapest bottle on the menu. Peter was pleased to remember he had picked something ten dollars more expensive just out of spite. From the look on the waiter’s face before he walked away, this Peter had done exactly the same thing.

At least some things, he realized, didn’t change.

“I feel the same way though,” Peter heard himself go on. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you for sticking this out with me. You could have said no; you could have told me I was being irrational and crazy and stupid, and yet here you are, with me, making sure I don’t do anything _too_ stupid, making sure that I don’t mess up anybody else’s reality besides my own.”

“Aw, Pete,” Wade smiled bittersweet and threw an arm over Peter’s hunched shoulders. “What’re friends for if not to keep you in line and make sure you don’t cause world-changing paradoxes?”

“Definitely nothing else,” Peter smirked and pointed a finger up the street. “There she is.”

Wade perked up and leaned heavily over the side of the building. A low whistle escaped his lips at what he saw. “Damn, my man. That’s not a woman, that’s a _fox_! I can’t believe you hit that!”

“Wade!” Peter felt his face heat up, and he reached over to yank Wade back behind the ledge. Yes, MJ was very attractive. She’d always been beautiful, but Peter loved other things about her besides her appearance. The day of their engagement, his MJ had worn a light blue dress with bright yellow espadrilles. Her red hair had been down, and he could have sworn she’d worn some kind of sun hat.

This MJ was wearing a green jumpsuit with black peep toes. She didn’t have on a hat, but there was a ritzy pair of sunglasses that were glinting in the light on top of her head. Her hair was braided tastefully over one shoulder, and they watched as she clipped her way over to tool!Peter, squealing at the sight of him. Other Peter stood up and caught her as she dove into his arms. He swung her around as they both smiled in greeting.

Though Peter had to strain his hearing a little, he could still make out what they were saying. They exchanged pleasantries, and Peter watched as MJ gave the younger version of himself a kiss on the cheek, his face lighting up at the gesture.

Peter felt his own heart warm at the sight. The last universe must have been a fluke, a bad dream, he told himself. There was no way something so terrible befell every Peter Parker in every universe. Parker Luck was bad, but it wasn’t omnipotent. He settled in and suggested Wade do the same. He hadn’t proposed until the end of their meal. It would be a good long while before they finished eating. MJ liked to talk, and he’d always loved listening to her voice. He imagined this version of himself would be much the same.

An hour flew by as the sun changed positions in the sky. Every now and again, Peter would refocus his hearing to listen in on what the couple across the street was saying. They had already talked about their lives, MJ about an audition she was aiming to ace at the Gershwin, because she was still a young up and coming actress at this point, and the other Peter had shared his own aspirations for graduate school.

_Keep dreaming,_ Peter thought to himself dryly. His own hopes for something more had never managed to come to fruition. _And if you’re like me, and she says yes, they never will for you either. _ Peter watched aptly as the waiter returned to clean up their plates and offer a small dessert menu.

It was almost time.

He reached over and nudged Wade who was playing a game on his smartphone. Did the internet even work here? Peter dismissed that thought and elbowed Wade again. “It’s time,” he said, turning back to watch Peter hand off the little menu with a nervous smile. In retrospect, he should have spoken to the waiter about his plans beforehand. It might have made the guy friendlier and the whole act of proposing easier if he’d had another person’s support. Peter strained his hearing once more when he felt Wade sit up next to him.

“Uh, MJ,” Peter watched his doppleganger lean over the table and reach for MJ’s hand. Her nails were the same pretty shade of green matching her outfit, and her bright eyes shined in the light.

“What is it, Peter?”

“I uh, I—” He fumbled with something in his pocket, nearly dropping it before he could bring it up to the table. The little black box was immediately recognizable, and he watched as MJ withdrew her hand from Peter’s to cover her mouth. Her eyes widened and glistened much the same as his own MJ’s had.

He held his breath. This was it.

“W-would you… would you, uh,” the other Peter stuttered his words but managed to get out of his seat and down on one knee. The interest from other nearby patrons and passersby was drawn, and they stopped to see what was happening. “Would you ma-marry me?”

“Oh my, oh, Peter, I…” MJ lowered her hand, but her face was not what Peter had remembered seeing that day. The tears in her eyes were not from joy, but from a more convoluted emotion. The other him didn’t seem to have any problem interpreting the expression however. His face dropped to match hers the moment realization finally dawned on him. Neither of them looked particularly happy, even from a distance, and all of those nosy anonymous folks who’d paused their activities to see what was going to happen next, hurried along to avoid the second-hand embarrassment of an obviously failed proposal.

Wade’s hand, unbidden, immediately came up to rest on the back of Peter’s neck and began massaging the tension building there. Peter continued to watch in abject horror as the other him scrambled back into his seat and shoved the jewelry box out of sight, clearly mortified by his girlfriend’s unspoken refusal.

“Oh, Tiger, oh no,” MJ said, the tears finally starting to drip down her cheeks.

“Tch,” he heard Wade click his tongue next to him. “Why’s she cryin’? It’s not like she’s the one with the broken heart!”

Wade was right, Peter thought. Even from over here, he felt the same sense of rejection this universe’s Peter was suffering through; it had happened to him, too, after all. God, he hoped he didn’t make a fool of himself again and tear up for the third time today.

But then he remembered what Wade had said to him away from the bridge, that this was not him. His MJ had said yes, then no later on. At least, in his own universe, he’d had _some_ semblance of happiness even if only for a brief period of time. This less fortunate version of himself would never even get to know that, would he?

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” she began, wiping at her eyes and reaching across the table for his hand. “Now is just… now is not a really good time. For either of us, I think. You’ve got… you’ve got so much going on, and I can’t… I don’t think I could handle being second best to your responsibilities.”

She didn’t come right out and say it, but it was clear that this MJ knew his secret in their universe just as his MJ had in his. Stealthily, she was admitting that she didn’t believe they could be together if he were wrapped up in his duties as Spider-Man. It marveled Peter that this version of her seemed wiser than her other counterpart in Peter’s own universe as she was saving them both more future heartache by letting him down gently now.

Then she went on to say that it wasn’t because she didn’t love him, on the contrary, she was doing this _because_ she loved him and didn’t believe they would ever fit together the way he must have been thinking they would. Sure, it might be fun and exciting for a time, but it would never last she said.

Peter was proud when his alternate managed to hold it together during her exposition and instead agreed with her that now might not be the best time. His own heart ached, but he knew from personal experience and years of suffering through a strained marriage that, in the end, this MJ was right.

Wade’s hand never left his, helping to ground Peter in the reality that this rejection he was witnessing was not his own, that he would move on from this point completely unaffected by what transpired in all these other universes outside himself.

They watched as MJ stood up, excused herself before dessert arrived, and didn’t look back as she walked down the street, back the way she came. The waiter returned shortly after with a slice of chocolate cake that the other Peter didn’t even so much as acknowledge. He paid his bill and wandered off in the opposite direction of MJ, hands in his pockets and head hung low between the valley of his shoulders.

“It happened again,” Peter stated flatly now that the fanfare of one of his happiest memories had died down. They were alone on the rooftop across from the restaurant his younger self had struck out at. He felt numb. Was he really the lucky one out of all these universes? Though his happily ever after hadn’t lasted forever, he’d at least had a sliver of it, a little taste of something resembling happiness. None of the other Peter’s he’d seen thus far were so fortunate to experience even that. He slumped back on his rump and put his head in his hands.

Wade wasn’t lying when he said this would be a lot to process. Even if all of the events were happening outside of himself and not directly affecting him, they were still tough to digest as just a spectator.

“Do you wanna stay or go?” a soft voice asked. It was Wade, still being uncharacteristically quiet. This was the longest Peter had ever heard Wade stay silent, and it spoke volumes of the level of control and empathy he could display with others when he wanted to.

“I think… I think I want to go,” Peter said after a time, when he was done having his little pity party.

“Ready to go home or…?”

“One more,” Peter said, sliding out of Wade’s reach and standing up to stretch out his back. “I just want to see one more universe, and then we can go.”

“Yeah, all right.” Wade stood up to join him, twisting at the waist to work out his own kinks. “Ya know, Petey, I’ve always heard that the third time's a charm!”

Peter found himself chuckling sadly at that. “Yeah,” he breathed out. “You might just be right.”

“You already know where ya wanna go? Or do ya wanna have a redo?”

“No, Wade,” Peter shook his head, “No resets. I’ve got something else in mind.”

“Well then, please lead the way!” Wade waved his wrist with a flourish and gestured at the center of the rooftop. Peter walked to the middle before raising his hands to invoke another portal.

The next universe he conjured was blanketed by darkness. They both stepped through and into an empty park just before dawn.

“Ohhhh,” Wade crowed as soon as he stepped out of the portal, head turning left and right, eyes searching for something. “What luck, not a bum in sight! [Are we not in Kansas anymore](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vQLNS3HWfCM&feature=youtu.be&t=2) ‘cuz this is NOT typical [New Yawk](https://languagelog.ldc.upenn.edu/nll/?p=4061)!”

Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes and shook his head. “This is Highland Park,” Peter told him. “We’re in Brooklyn. Near my… _our_ old home.” He watched Wade’s eyes shift in sudden understanding. He meant the home that he’d shared with MJ.

“Somethin’ I gotta be worried about here?” Wade asked preemptively, his face not wholly hiding his concern.

“Nothing… heavy,” Peter assured him. “Just the day Mary Jane said she wanted to try a trial separation. I came home that morning from a patrol. I was dead tired, half out of it when I stumbled through the window only to find her packing an overnight bag. She told me she was going to stay with her mother, but I… I don’t know if I believe that now. I just… I need to see something,” Peter murmured, his eyes looking distant as if still stuck in that particular memory.

Wade’s hand came up to rest gently on his shoulder, and Peter came back to himself, shivering at the contact. This was the most anyone had touched him in a long time and to say he was touch-starved for comfort seemed a bit of an understatement. Perhaps Peter had felt undeserving of it since the last person to provide it had rejected him thoroughly, not once, but twice.

He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be treated with kindness, with compassion and, dare he say, love.

Wade had always been kind of handsy with him, even in the past when Peter and he were still just faceless supers who happened to run into one another now and again on the streets of New York under the cover of darkness. Wade had never stopped treating him like something precious, like Peter mattered to him, like Wade actually _cared_ about him.

Of course, back then, it had taken some time for Peter to trust the other’s intentions were genuine but, eventually, he’d started to see the man as his friend. Not someone he trusted enough to keep his secret identity safe, but someone he knew would have his back if push came to shove. They’d even paled around a little in those days, but like MJ, it hadn’t lasted forever either. In fact, Wade’s presence had just seemed to vanish from his life shortly after Peter asked him to watch over his part of the city so that he could go on a guilt-free honeymoon with his then new bride.

He tensed up under Wade’s hand and turned to examine him once more. His eyes were dark in the dim lighting from the street lights surrounding the edge of the park, but they watched Peter with an emotional intelligence he’d never fully realized Wade was capable of until now. The look in his eyes spoke volumes, and Peter shivered again under their scrutiny, reaching up to gently remove Wade’s hand.

“I’m ready,” he said, stuffing his own hands into his pockets, anything to avoid doing something stupid with them like try and hold onto Wade for just a little while longer. Why he even thought he would do something like that eluded him, but he chalked it up to that same hunger for comfort that he’d identified earlier and started walking toward the entrance of the park to ignore it. _Don’t be stupid,_ he chastised himself. _He just feels sorry for you. You’ve cried on him twice today. There’s no deeper meaning to it. He’s just being nice._

They walked for a few blocks in silence before Peter could no longer stand it. “This is the longest I’ve ever heard you NOT talk to me, Wade. I’m starting to get worried that [you’re not you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OTPJYZLD6L8) anymore.”

“Hah! Classic reference. Don’t you worry about me, sugar,” Wade chuckled, making sure to keep in step with Peter as they crossed a street and rounded a corner. “I’ve got a Snickers hidden away in one of my pouches. If either you or me needs a little _pick-me-up_ , I’m prepared.”

“I’m serious though,” Peter pressed, hands fisting uncomfortably in his pockets. “I don’t think you’ve ever been this quiet before.”

Wade’s brow lifted under his cap, and his lips pursed at the comment. “I mean, I _can_ be quiet when I gotta be. It’s not that hard, but it does suck a fat one if it’s for an extended period of time because, let’s be honest, everything’s a lot more fun when it’s accompanied by [MST3K](https://mst3k.com/)-like commentary.”

“Heh, yeah,” Peter agreed, still hung up on why Wade would forgo all of his usual chatter just for him.

“I guess it just doesn’t feel like the right time for that kinda stuff,” Wade offered once they came to a sudden stop just shy of an expensive looking highrise. “These universes are important moments in time for you. What kinda asshole would I be to make shitty off-hand remarks about anything even remotely funny when you’re reliving some of the most meaningful aspects of what made you, you? Even I’m not that muchuva jerk.”

“Ah.” Peter nodded his head in understanding. Of course Wade would be considerate about something like this. He always was with Peter, wasn’t he? Now should be no different than any other time. “Thanks,” was all he could think to say in return.

“So, uh,” Wade tipped his head back and looked over at the building across from them. “How you wanna do this?”

“Hm? Oh,” Peter looked at the surrounding buildings. “I remember now why I had a love/hate relationship with this place… there’s less chance for nosy neighbors the higher you get, but there also aren’t any easy access points either.”

“You’d think both of those things would be good ones.” Wade’s shoulder shook in a quiet laugh as he looked back at Peter with knowing blue eyes. “Good to know you’re just as lazy as me. It’s actually really refreshing to have things I’ve always suspected about you confirmed.”

“I take offense to that. I’m not lazy, just… ya know, I get tired like everyone else after a night of patrolling.”

“Yuh-huh, no need to explain it to me. I’m a little bit of all the seven deadly sins rolled into one. My inner sloth is too busy preening right now that we have similar tendencies.”

Doing some mental math, Peter sighed and looked back up. “I think, and don’t quote me, I should be able to hear just fine if we camp out on that building over there.” He pointed to an apartment complex half as tall and next to the one in front of them.

“Whatever you think’ll work,” Wade conceded, following after Peter as he searched for a fire escape. With some finagling and one loud clang later, they were on top of the roof. The distance was a little farther than he’d anticipated from ground level, but if he strained his hearing to its limits, he could just barely hear the movement in his shared condo with MJ.

Frustrated, he frowned. This wasn’t going to work as well as he’d expected.

“What’s up, Pete?” Wade nudged him gently from the right.

“I might’ve messed up. I don’t think I’ll be able to hear anything from here. And if I know myself, I’ll close the window again soon as I get home.”

Peter turned to look when he heard Wade rustling around for something. He was doing that crazy action where he reached around in thin air for something. Logically, Peter knew it was his utility belt, but the sight was still jarring when Wade’s fingertips disappeared and reappeared into something completely invisible. When he finally found what he was looking for, an object small and black, Wade’s other hand disappeared into the neckline of the sweatshirt he was wearing. His tongue peeked out from behind his lips as his eyes pointed skyward, obviously trying to envision whatever it was he was searching for on his person. A soft click, like a weapon, accompanied the triumphant look on his face, and two more items came out with his fingers.

“Don’t worry fam, I gotcha.” Wade winked, shifting the scope and gun around in his hands to snap them together and load it with whatever unseen item he’d retrieved from his pouch pocket. “Which window is it?”

“Far right, second from the top. Wade,” Peter felt his frown deepening, “this isn’t a problem you can shoot.”

“Lies,” Wade tsked, raising his hand and looking through the scope to line up his shot. He was probably calculating the trajectory. It would need to be slightly higher than the target to make it across the distance. “[All lies](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CubNruSEM8Q)!” He screeched shrilly when he pulled the trigger.

Whatever Wade had loaded into the gun, it wasn’t a bullet. It didn’t explode when it struck Peter’s old condo or break any of the glass. Instead, a low thunk accompanied something embedding itself into the brick and mortar. Holding the scope up to his eye to look where he’d aimed, Wade hummed in satisfaction before lowering the weapon and reaching into one of his pouches for another item. A wireless earbud was passed to Peter, and he watched Wade reach near his neck to fight with his invisible mask and get his own earpiece in place.

“Spy gear,” Wade answered without being asked.

“I’m not even going to ask how or why you have that on you.”

“Neither am I; shit gets too weird when you do that,” Wade muttered sagely. A brief burst of static flooded the earpiece as it was switched on remotely, and suddenly, it was easier to hear MJ moving around inside the condo. Seeing was still an issue though, and Peter had to squint his eyes to catch a glimpse of her moving past the window in a hurry. She was a blur of color and motion, but at least now he was able to hear.

“Take this too,” Wade tapped him on the shoulder and passed something else to him. Peter looked down at what he’d been given. It was a high-tech pair of binoculars that were slim, almost like strapless goggles meant to be fitted to the face. Wade just smirked and pointed at his eyes. “Bruce Wayne’s not the only one who comes prepared with fancy do-dads and reconnaissance shit. Mercenary, remember? [I’ll do just about anything for a Klondike bar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iv-8mvNbALM), and by that, I mean a buck. Daddy’s got bills to pay.”

Peter suppressed a laugh as he watched Wade raise the scope back to his eye and placed the goggles flush to his face. It took a moment for them to recalibrate to match his already enhanced eyesight, the night vision overlay turning his world forest green. Auto-generated numbers judging the distance between him and the object he was viewing popped up in his periphery. It almost felt like he was wearing his old Spider-Man suit with the amatuer augmented lenses again. Ah, memories.

“Got a timetable? Over,” Wade asked, his gaze still fixated on the window they could now clearly see MJ moving behind. She was fully dressed and folding clothes into a suitcase.

“What time is it?”

“Psst, Petey, you gotta say over or you’re not doin’ it right! Oh five fifteen. Over.”

“I take back what I said about you not talking,” Peter whispered, not really meaning it.

“Hah! Too late for that. Over. Oh! Would ya look at that!”

And sure enough, there was the familiar silhouette of another Peter in his Spider-Man suit twhipping his way back home before sunrise. He was approaching from the northeast and shot a web at the corner of the condominium in front of them before sticking himself to the side of the building using his spider powers. He should have been crawling toward it by now, having already paused to remove any evidence of leftover webbing, but something was making him hesitate.

Peter felt his own spider sense flare along the back of his neck and reached over to yank Wade down with him as he pressed them flat against the roof. To his professional credit, Wade didn’t make a sound and allowed Peter to squish him onto the hard cement under their feet. They stayed stock still, only the barely there sound of their controlled breathing could be heard over the silence of the night.

A lock unclasping rang in their earpieces, and Peter knew his other self had dismissed whatever weird feeling he’d gotten from the two of them watching him. It was likely a combination of the digital hearing device attached to his window and their direct attention had made him uncomfortable. They should be safe now.

“Spoopy sense,” Wade snickered, getting back up on his knees and putting the scope back over his eye, but Peter found no humor in it as he got up too. He knew what was coming next.

“MJ,” they both heard the other Peter say, his voice somewhat muffled by his mask and the window he'd shut behind himself. “I wasn’t expecting you up so early, sweetheart. What’re you doing?”

“Oh!” She sounded surprised, but that was only because she had initially planned on being gone before he returned. “I, uhm, I wasn’t expecting you either. I thought you said you were going on a mission with a friend?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, his voice a little clearer now. He must’ve removed the mask. “We finished early. I thought we could go out for breakfast this morning, just like old times. But uh, you didn’t answer my question. Why’re you packing an overnight bag, honey? Did I forget we were going somewhere this weekend?”

“This is…” MJ sounded hesitant, and they watched her reposition herself in front of the window. Through the binoculars, Peter could see her gnawing at her bottom lip. “Tiger,” she started, turning around to face his other self. “Peter… _we’re_ not going anywhere, only I am. I’m going to spend a couple of nights at my mother’s. I… I think we should take some time apart.”

“What!?” They heard the echo of loud footsteps as Peter got closer to her, the shape of him recognizable across from MJ. His face was scrunched up in confusion and then anger. Peter felt his own brow furrow to match. Was that what he looked like when he got upset? It looked terrifying, and MJ shied away when he brought an arm up to reach for her.

“Peter, don’t,” she pleaded, her hands tucked up close to her chest. It was a defensive position to keep herself safe. “I’ve already made up my mind. Things have been… they’ve been difficult lately. More difficult than usual.”

“MJ… Mary Jane,” the other Peter tried to reason, his face softening ever so slightly. “These kinda things happen. No one’s marriage is perfect. We can work through this.”

“Yes, Peter, we can,” she agreed, “But first, we need to give ourselves some space. I was talking to our therapist, and she said—”

There was a loud thump, and the other Peter disappeared from sight. He’d dumped himself on the bed and out of view.

“Augh, here we go again. You need to stop seeing that lady; she’s a quack!”

“You wouldn’t think that if you ever bothered to attend our counseling sessions,” MJ countered.

“I’ve been to plenty of them, thank you very much,” Peter heard himself retort through his earpiece. “Whatever crazy things she’s been putting in your head, it’s just a load of new-age nonsense. My aunt and uncle had issues now and again too; nothing’s perfect. Thinking everything should be and always will be is just a load of bull—”

“Peter!” MJ raised her voice to speak over him. “This is part of the problem! We don’t communicate properly. You don’t make time for me. You don’t listen to my thoughts and opinions, my wants or needs!”

“Well, what about now,” Peter argued. “Aren’t we communicating right now? Talk to me. I’m listening.”

“You’re not listening,” MJ reprimanded him. “You’re looking for a fight, and I’m not going to give it to you. That’s the issue, Peter, you think every problem is something you can face like Spider-Man, with brute force and intellect. Our marriage shouldn’t be managed with either of those things!”

“So don’t leave then, stay and talk to me,” Peter heard himself shout. The tone of his voice was still angry, but it sounded like he was trying to control it better. “We can’t fix this if you just walk away!”

“No, Peter,” she cut him off. “I’m not going to let you make me the villain here! I’m doing this _because_ I want to work on us. I’m only going to my mother’s for a little while. It isn’t forever. It’s meant to be temporary, for us to get our heads on straight before we try to remediate all the other parts of our marriage that we need to fix.”

She moved away from the window and gathered up her half-packed luggage from the bed, zipping it shut and struggling to lift it. Peter saw himself in his spider suit move to help her, but she sidestepped away.

“No, thank you. I managed just fine on my own before I met you. I think I can handle this myself,” she told him, turning around and walking out of sight. Her footsteps stopped resounding over the earpiece, and Peter felt himself swallow, reminding himself this wasn’t being directed at him. It had happened to him, sure, much the same in fact, but _he_ was already past this moment, was now attempting to heal from a different sort of heartache involving MJ.

He’d survived her leaving him before, and he would survive again even if she did it to another version of himself in some other reality he happened to crash.

“Peter,” MJ’s voice sounded far away, “I’m going to use this time to think about what it is I want most from our marriage. Dr. Andrews and I both think it’d be good for you to do the same, too.”

A door creaked open and then shut, signifying she’d left.

The feedback over the earpiece was silent for a minute, and then came the crash of what Peter knew to be his fist through a wall. He vaguely remembered losing his deposit over that when they’d finally decided to call it quits for real and vacate the condo. It hadn’t been pretty, how he’d exploded in a rage, but he couldn’t exactly judge this version of himself since he’d behaved in much the same manner when his own MJ had left him, too. It was just mortifying that Wade was here this time, with him, to witness Peter’s other self acting out this way. It showed him what Peter was really capable of, how petty he could be, how destructive and weak he was when faced with something he couldn’t pound into submission. MJ had been right. That was always how he liked to face his problems, and this time he couldn’t do that, so he took it out on their home instead.

Watching himself like this, from an objective point of view, Peter grimaced as he was faced with the reality of who he really was. He wasn’t a hero; he wasn’t someone people should admire.

He was but a man.

More loud noises, and Peter knew his other self had moved onto the bed, toppling it along with the dresser full of his and MJ’s belongings. He reached up to take his earpiece out. Even without it being directly in his ear, he could still hear himself angrily tearing their bedroom apart. This was not his finest moment, and he was ashamed. Only Wade’s hand coming to rest on his shoulder brought him back to reality.

“Hey, Spides,” Wade told him while tightening his grip. “That’s not you.”

_But it was me,_ Peter thought and didn’t say. _That’s exactly who I was, who I am._

“Wade, I—” He wanted to say they should go, that he didn’t want to see what happened next—he didn’t need to if this universe kept following the formula for disaster that he already knew. Wade would be forced to watch Peter breaking down for a third time; he didn’t think he could stand it anymore himself. He opened his mouth to say as much, but Wade brought his hand up to silence Peter.

“Shhh!” There was an unusual ringtone echoing over their earpieces. They both recognized it instantly as the same one Peter had assigned to Deadpool’s number back when they were still paling around.

Instead of questioning why it was going off, Peter moved to put his earpiece back in and listened intently. He heard himself answer the phone. It was hard to make out what was being said to him over the line, but Peter’s replies were slow and watery. It was obvious that he was distressed about something.

“You don’t need to come over,” they heard him tell the caller. He sounded defeated, and his words held no authority. “I’ll be fine,” other Peter tried again. “No, I… all right. All right,” was all he said before hanging up.

Luckily, they didn’t have to wait long to see this universe’s Deadpool jogging up the street and in through the front door of the high rise.

“Must be serious if I took the main entrance. That isn’t like me,” Peter overheard Wade mutter to himself. He seemed more concerned with his own methods than whether or not his alter ego would make it safely past security. If Deadpool existed in this universe, surely everyone in New York was aware of the kind of work he did. While it wasn’t wise to charge into a ritzy condominium complex in full tactical gear and weapons, it was probably less so when you were a known mercenary for hire.

Minutes passed feeling like hours, but no police sirens sounded in the distance.

No one was coming.

Whatever means Deadpool had used to get up to Peter’s high-rise didn’t appear to require the use of violence, and shortly after his arrival, they heard a door open over their earpieces as Wade’s other self let himself into the other Peter’s home.

“ [Hey, buddy](https://media1.tenor.com/images/8662a002281ce748f6d83503c375c1e4/tenor.gif?itemid=17036554) ,” Wade’s voice cajoled in the background. It was said playfully, like he was trying to get a rise out of his friend. “Whater you doin’ in here? This is the worst episode of [Extreme Makeover](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Extreme_Makeover:_Home_Edition) I’ve ever seen!”

“MJ, she’s… she’s gone.”

Then came the tears, again, and Peter pressed his forehead into his hands. How many times did this have to happen before he was satisfied? He should have told them to leave, he ruefully thought as he moved to take his earpiece out, but the sound of Wade’s voice crackling over the receiver stopped him.

“Hey, hey,” he heard repeated in that same gentle voice Wade had used with him just after the bridge. “Tell me what’s going on. What do you mean she’s gone?”

“I messed up this time,” came other Peter’s garbled reply. “We fought. She went to her mother’s. I can’t—I didn’t want to fight with her.”

“Fights happen sometimes; it’s no biggie! Even you ‘n me fight, though it’s usually over dumb shit like who gets the last slice of pizza or whether or not I’m allowed to use  _excessive force_.”

“You haven’t hurt anyone seriously in years, don’t lie to make me feel better,” Peter heard himself accuse.

“Well,” they heard some shuffling around in the background. “I used to. The point is I don’t anymore because we fought about it enough that I finally realized you were right.” Someone laughed, likely Peter’s other self. They all knew how pig-headed Wade could be; it went without saying those must have been some pretty intense arguments before Peter had managed to convince Wade to stop maiming and killing. “Did she say she was leaving and never coming back?” Wade pressed again, this time giving Peter the chance to answer with a yes or no. 

“No,” the other Peter sniffled. His voice was muffled now, and when Peter looked back at the window, he could see that Deadpoool had gathered Spider-Man up in his arms, again reminiscent of the times Peter had fallen apart earlier this evening. Just like then, this Wade was there to help keep his pieces together, no matter how broken or wretched he’d become. “But Wade, she—”

“Shh shh shhhh, Peter,” Wade’s other self cooed. Hearing his real name used sent a shiver down Peter’s spine. How close were they for him to know Peter’s secret identity in this universe, for him to know Peter’s home address? How had he gotten in without breaking down a door? Unless… Peter found himself turning from the window and staring at his own version of Wade, still seated next to him. There was a look on his image induced face, one somewhere between horror and disbelief. What was he thinking as he listened to Peter’s marriage dissolve from a distance?

Movement started back up in the apartment, and Peter looked away. The tactical goggles Wade had lent him allowed him to see that Deadpool had righted the bed for them to sit on. His gloved hand was behind Peter’s unmasked head, and his Deadpool mask was rolled up to reveal his mouth in a sympathetic frown. All the visible skin there was still scarred, but he didn’t seem bothered at Peter seeing him so exposed even though he’d never willingly shown Peter his face in their own universe. “Don’t worry, Pete, you’re gonna work through this. [Shit happens... sometimes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=edmqTODMZC4). Nobody’s perfect, though you’re pretty damn close. Your wife’ll see that. She’ll come back, just give her some time.”

“But what if she doesn’t, Wade?”

There was silence for a moment, too long of a moment, and Peter watched Deadpool slip his arm around Spider-Man’s shoulders to pull him close. “Then I think she’d be making a huge mistake, the worst one of her life. If she walked out on you…” He paused. “I know I’d regret that if it were me.”

Wade cursed under his breath and stood up next to Peter abruptly. His hand was digging around his face, likely trying to fish his earpiece out from under his mask. The whole affair just looked comical without seeing everything properly, and Peter found himself smiling despite everything he’d just witnessed. How could he do that? How could Wade in his, this, and probably any other universe, whether intentionally or otherwise, always seem to give Peter exactly what he needed in his darkest moments? Why was he even willing to be there, to offer Peter comfort that he didn’t wholly deserve, solace that he’d never felt worthy or deserving of before?

“C’mon,” he heard some shuffling from the condo and turned back to the window. “How’s about instead of sitting here mopin’, I help you clean this place up? I might know a guy who knows a guy… it’ll be good as new.” Wade was talking to his other self like he wasn’t disturbed by how destructive Peter had been, like it didn’t matter or change the way he viewed his friend, like it never had. Before he could think any further on it, someone was tapping his shoulder. It was his own Wade, a complicated expression playing across his features that Peter had never seen. He looked awkward, almost bashful, and couldn’t quite seem to meet Peter’s eyes.

“You, uh, said you didn’t wanna miss Monday classes, right?”

It took Peter a moment to realize what he was hinting at. Right, they’d been gone for hours by now. If time flowed as quickly here as it did when he’d dropped into Miles’ universe the first time, it might already be too late. Regardless of that, there wasn’t much left to see anyway. They didn’t have time to wait the two weeks he remembered it’d taken MJ to come back home after this fight. Wade was right to remind Peter that his own life existed outside of this reality. Nothing he’d witnessed here was going to change what had already happened, and Wade had officially made good on his promise, and thensome, to Peter. It was only right that he kept his, too.

Peter had said this was the last one, and he’d meant it.

“Yeah,” he said, getting up and removing his earpiece for good. Whatever happened next in this universe should remain a mystery to him; it wasn’t going to solve anything in his own. And even if what they’d seen tonight hadn’t been what Peter’d expected, it had served its purpose and given him that closure he’d so desperately desired. It was clear to him now that he wasn’t the worst off, not in the least, and he should be grateful for all of the moments of happiness he’d been given in his own timeline. He should be grateful that he had a Deadpool, a Wade he could call his friend to help support him without passing any sort of judgement. Would it have been easier, Peter wondered, to go through his separation and divorce with MJ if he’d taken the time to cultivate the relationship they’d just watched on display across the way? Would he have never needed this kind of painful affirmation to accept that, sometimes, unfortunate things really just did happen?

Peter handed his earpiece back to Wade, who dumped it in midair next to his hip. He didn’t say anything as Peter walked away from the edge of the building and began focusing on drawing the last portal that would finally take them home.

It was easier now that he’d done some practice. The portal sparked to life, and on the other side, he saw the first rays of sunlight creeping over the horizon in their universe. It was silly and cliché to think a new day was dawning, as were his revelations, but Peter found himself glad to have thought it anyway. He motioned for Wade to step through first and followed after. They were back on their rooftop, in a familiar place and time. Peter didn’t even look back when he heard the portal close behind them.

It was over. It was done.

Peter was done.

He reached down to slide the intricate ring that had made all this possible off his fingers and held it out for Wade to take. He didn’t need it anymore.

Wade was slower on the uptake though and hesitated in accepting it. Based on how he kept his distance, it was almost like he was afraid to get too close. 

“You okay?” Wade ventured, sounding unsure of himself. That wasn’t like him, and Peter found himself searching for reasons why. Something about that last universe had unnerved Wade, though it should have been Peter who was feeling out of sorts.

“I’m all right,” Peter told him. It was the truth after all. Physically, he wasn’t hurt, though, admittedly, it was a lot to comprehend emotionally. Still, it was surprising how much easier it seemed to handle now versus what he thought it would be back when this was all one big unknown. Maybe it was because he’d lived through better outcomes than in some of those realities, or maybe it had to do with the company he’d brought along while reliving them, even the more unfortunate ones. Peter wasn’t sure, but what he did know was that he was tired and so was Wade and they needed to hurry up and get off this roof. 

“Let’s get that back to Strange,” he offered and gestured his hand once again for Wade to take the ring.

He did, after a nod, and tucked it into one of his pouches in exchange for his cell phone. Tapping a couple of buttons and railing off their approximate location to the person who picked up, Wade turned away from Peter and started making his way down the side of the building. It was almost like he was avoiding Peter, but why would he do that now after all of the horrible things he’d seen Peter was capable of? Nothing Wade had done tonight was worse than that.

They made it down to street level and walked to a corner Wade pointed out. The early morning was cool and quiet, and Peter didn’t bother asking why they hadn’t deactivated their image inducers. In a way, he was glad Wade hadn’t asked him to. It was a lot easier to read his expression without the protective cover of his Deadpool mask.

“You’re staring,” Wade mentioned off-hand, eyes flitting around at their surroundings nervously. He still hadn’t managed to look Peter in the eye since they’d left the last universe.

“I forgot to say thank you,” Peter murmured. He brought his hand up to rest on Wade’s shoulder, a gesture Wade had done for him many times before, but the reaction it garnered was unexpected. Wade nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked him.

Wade’s face turned a deep shade of red. “M’fine.”

But before Peter could question him further, the taxi pulled up, and Wade was saved from having to answer anything. He slid into the taxi first, making sure to press his big body up against the window and as far away from Peter as humanly possible after clipping himself in. It was clearly avoidance, and that was disconcerting to Peter. He wanted to ask what Wade was doing, why he was acting so distant now after everything they’d just been through together, but it felt rude to question Wade so openly after he’d been nothing but respectful of Peter’s own discomforts when they were traveling the multiverse.

“Where to?” Peter heard the cabbie call out to Wade. He didn’t say anything and instead gestured at Peter.

_You call the shots,_ Wade had texted him earlier before all this had been set into motion.

“[177 Bleecker Street](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sanctum_Sanctorum) ,” Peter said and climbed into the taxi himself. He made sure to sit on his side of the backseat, affording Wade all the space he seemed so hellbent on keeping between them right now. It was strange, but Peter told himself he could handle it. He needed time to think anyway, and it would take about a half hour to get to their destination depending on early morning traffic in and out of the city. Peter clipped his seatbelt in place and turned to look out the window.

Wade hadn’t behaved this way until he’d witnessed that last version of himself comforting Peter. It was almost like he hadn’t been able to handle it, like he was embarrassed he’d—Peter’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. That other version of Wade had been more honest and given voice to his true feelings.

_I know I’d regret that if it were me,_ he’d said.

It was impossible to doubt the sincerity of his words when he’d spoken them with his arm wrapped around a breaking Peter’s shoulders. Again, doing everything he could to hold Peter together even when it wasn’t his responsibility to do so in the first place.

How many times would Peter have to see it, experience it, before he realized it for what it was? All those incidents in the past, when Wade had shown up unannounced, invited himself along on Peter’s most dangerous missions and nightly patrols, given him the right amount of space to live his mistakes and still manage to be present to pick up the pieces when everything came tumbling down… Wade had always been there for Peter, not because he was his friend, but because he [truly, madly, deeply](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WQnAxOQxQIU) cared about him.

But this was not the kind of love you had for your family or friends, no, it was something else entirely—it was more similar to the sort of love that Peter had felt for MJ once upon a time, the kind of love that made you brave and allowed you to take risks you wouldn’t otherwise attempt if not for the benefit of someone else who meant more than the world to you. That kind of love remained strong even in the face of fault and could overlook any ugliness or past transgression as though it were nothing because this was the kind of love that was given wholly, freely, and unconditionally.

Wade was upset because his other self hadn’t been restricted by the same rules he’d imposed on himself in this universe. That version didn’t care what Peter thought if he knew Wade cared for him as more than a friend, but this Wade did, _his Wade_ did, and he’d unknowingly given himself away and was struggling to deal with all the unknown consequences that realization might cause for his own universe’s Peter.

Did he really think Peter was so cruel as to turn on him just because Wade looked at him as more than a friend? Did Wade really think a little crush—no, feelings that remained after two decades should never be taken so lightly—was enough to make Peter hate him?

Something heavy settled in Peter’s chest. He felt uncomfortable. It wasn’t anger, not at Wade, but he was disappointed in himself. Peter was certain then that he wasn’t going to cut ties over this, but wasn’t it equally cruel of him to realize Wade’s feelings and then just ignore them? Wasn’t it awful of him to let Wade go on feeling tormented after all these years, hoping and fighting to be a part of a future with someone that might never fully acknowledge the extent of their devotion?

Being oblivious to it once was Peter’s own fault, but since he’d been made to feel exactly the same by his ex, how could he even think to do that to somebody else now that he knew better?

He suddenly felt ashamed he’d ever made Wade feel this way.

“I don’t like the sound of you thinkin’ over there,” he heard Wade say from his side of the cab. The words were meant as a joke, but the way they were said only made Wade’s unease that much more apparent. He was terrified now that he was certain Peter knew, and the silence was only making it worse the longer it went on.

Peter swallowed his anxiety. He needed to say something, anything, but nothing he could think of felt right in that moment. Then he remembered where they were. Was this even the right place and time? He didn’t think there ever would be one, but he knew he didn’t want to risk losing Wade from his life forever just because he couldn’t bear to address the awkward tension steadily growing between them.

Everything that had transpired now and in the past was finally in perfect focus, Wade becoming withdrawn and slowly removing himself from Peter’s superhero life at the mention of his fiancée, no longer paling around with him after midnight on rooftops once he’d announced he was getting wed, and then disappearing completely after he did Peter one last favor for his honeymoon. He thought then, that even if he had bothered to invite Wade to his wedding, if they’d been closer friends, Wade would’ve gone out of respect for Peter’s feelings and ignored his own hurt.

It didn’t feel fair how much Wade could love him when Peter knew he was nothing but selfish and petty himself.

“I’m sorry,” Peter finally settled on. He didn’t know what other words to say. “I’m sorry I never realized—”

Wade made a strangled sound, and Peter turned to look at him. His handsome image-induced face was all screwed up, and there were tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. “You don’t gotta apologize to me, Petey. I’m the one who should be—fuck, I never intended for you to ya… you were never supposed to know.”

The waver in his voice nearly broke Peter’s heart.

Tentatively and with purpose, Peter reached over to lay his hand atop Wade’s in a gesture of comfort, one he’d been given plenty of times before by his Aunt, by MJ, and even by Wade. It was his turn to return the favor, to be the pillar that kept their ruins from collapsing.

“You don’t need to be sorry, Wade,” he heard himself say. “You never have to be sorry.”

That earned him a hiccup, and Wade was scrubbing at his splotchy face to wipe at the tears streaking down his cheeks.

“If… if you never wanna see me again after this, I get it. You don’t gotta pretend you’re not freaked out by—”

Peter tightened his grip on Wade’s hand. “Wade,” Peter said over the other man’s incessant rambling. “I mean it. Don’t apologize and stop trying to run away from me. I  _want_ to see you again.”

Wade scrunched up his face in a ridiculously loud sniff. “Really?” he asked in a watery voice.

“[Really really](https://thumbs.gfycat.com/SphericalPeriodicAplomadofalcon-size_restricted.gif).”

Wade’s hand seemed to relax under his, and Peter was grateful their conversation had been vague enough that the taxi driver kept his eyes on the road and not in the rear view mirror to see two grown men loudly proclaiming their feelings to one another.

“While I can’t promise you I’ll ever feel exactly the same… _way_ ,” he tried to explain tactfully, “I’m not mad about it.” Peter leaned back into his headrest, eyes still trained on Wade. “It’s actually kinda nice to have someone care about you when you don’t care that much about yourself. You know, I didn’t even realize that’s what I needed before I went _traveling_ the first time.”

He didn’t have to elaborate on what he meant; he knew that Wade knew.

“It’s because of people like you and them that I want to keep on going. Even if it’s not perfect, even if it’s painful, it still makes me want to try.”

Wade’s face was a mess, red and ruddy in a way that was reminiscent of his scarring under the mask, but now fully on display for Peter to see. “Don’t say things like that, Pete,” he warned. Somewhere in between his apology and Peter’s rationale, he’d interlaced their fingers and was holding Peter tight. “Don’t say things that’ll give me hope.”

Peter laughed at that, a real genuine laugh, something that only Wade had been able to draw out of him in the past couple of weeks. “You’ve always been there for me, Wade. How could I not be there for you, too?”

“Easy there, the more you talk the less it sounds like no.”

Peter smiled. Now Wade really was back to his old self.

“I’m all right with you thinking that.”

“Really? You sure you’re ready to accept what that means without reading all of the fine print?” A mischievous glint entered Wade’s blue eyes, and he gave Peter one of those crooked smiles that had likely made all of his past lovers swoon. It was playful and promised so much more, but what that more was, Peter wasn’t sure of just yet. He didn’t dislike it though, that much he knew, and he let their hands remain pressed together, palm to palm.

MJ had said that they couldn’t be together because he was Spider-Man. Yet, Peter caught himself thinking that moments like this, ones of sudden, intense clarity, of knowing who he was and finally feeling at peace with it, with Wade, wouldn’t exist if _not_ for him being Spider-Man.

It was the first time in a long time that he was thankful for who he had become. He tightened his grip on Wade’s hand.

Making up his mind, Peter nodded. “Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than any of the other documents I’ve ever signed my life away to.” They both knew it was a reference to his previous marriage and the now lack thereof. But it was telling too, that if he could joke about something like that in the present, he was well on the road to recovery.

“Oh, Peter,” Wade chuckled darkly, finally relaxing back into his seat now that all of his prior worries had been dispelled. “If you give me the chance, I might just surprise ya.”

“I sure hope you do,” Peter smiled back at him. “I’m looking forward to it actually.”  
  


* * *

  
6:00 a.m. found Dr. Stephen Strange pacing in front of his second-story windows. Today was the day, or it wasn’t; it was always hard to be sure. He knew so much and yet, sometimes, it felt like he didn’t know anything at all. He stopped in front of the middle window, assessing the street below.

Deadpool had promised, and Strange felt foolish to have believed the man.

If he returned the ring today, then it was done. He’d have kept his word. If it was returned tomorrow… Strange frowned at his reflection staring back at him. He didn’t want to think about all of the possible repercussions that might be incurred if Deadpool and his _friend_ were late. Looking up at the position of the sun again and back down to the street, Strange resumed pacing.

It was about ten minutes later that he saw it, the yellow taxi cab that rounded the corner was exactly as he’d envisioned it a week before. Strange stopped and watched as it pulled up to the curb, idling as its occupants paid for their ride.

Deadpool, Wade W. Wilson, stepped out first. He was still wearing his image inducer tech, that much was clear from how disparagingly normal he appeared. It was both reassuring and not at the same time. Strange knew of at least three drastically different outcomes that had played out this way. He narrowed his eyes and focused on Deadpool turning back to assist the other rider out of the vehicle. Whatever happened next would decide the fate of Strange’s afternoon and likely the next two days for New York City, too.

What he did not expect, however, was for a middle-aged man, this was obviously Spider-Man or Peter B. Parker also wearing his image inducer, to accept Wade’s helping hand as he got out of the cab. His face was rather genial, a surprising response based on what Strange knew he’d gone to see. But it wasn’t just Spider-Man’s appearance and pleasantry that threw Strange off the most, oh, no, it was the fact that Deadpool had not yet let go of the other man’s hand, that he was still holding it as he shut the car door behind Spider-Man and brought his knuckles up to Deadpool’s lips for the faintest of caresses. A kiss is what it was, what it could only be perceived as by any other bystander, and it was troubling.

Deeply troubling, but not for the reasons he might have anticipated.

Strange heard himself sigh heavily in resignation as he watched the two of them disappear under his building’s awning to request entry into his home.

_So, this is_ that _universe then, huh?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! What a wild (emotional) ride haha! That's it; this is all I wrote! I hope that you were able to enjoy it till the end! Leaving some love in the kudos and comments is always appreciated, and I look forward to seeing all of you in this fandom again soon. 🙇

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[ART] The Past, the Present, and the (im)Possible Future](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29149215) by [WaterMe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaterMe/pseuds/WaterMe)




End file.
